


Dead Ends

by Euryd1ce



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Deaf Frisk, Dom!Sans, Ecto-Penis, Ecto-Tongue, F/F, F/M, Frisk is Agender, Multi, Mutual Masturbation, Reader Is Not Frisk, Reader has a vagina, Reader identifies female, Regular Masturbation, Remember when I said Slow Burn? I lied, Shiptease like woah, Slow Burn, Stabbing, Torture
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-28
Updated: 2018-04-18
Packaged: 2018-05-29 14:16:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 23
Words: 82,871
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6379537
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Euryd1ce/pseuds/Euryd1ce
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You didn't think your situation could go from bad to worse... but you were wrong. You thought that it might be easy to go home despite a few unfortunate setbacks... but you were wrong. You even thought that you could only make the same mistakes once over... but you were very, very wrong.</p><p>Act 1: First run</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. First Run... Begin!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oh boy! Here it is! For your reading pleasure! The fic you've all been waiting for! Ok, probably not, but let's have some fun anyway, huh?
> 
> You fall down into the earth and familiarize yourself with your surroundings. Though you are injured, you make your way through and meet some of the underground inhabitants.
> 
> For more information on this, your beloved author, please feel free to http://darkindigo.tumblr.com/

## First Run... Begin!

Hiking was stupid.

 

Hiking boots were stupid and rocks were stupid.

 

Your enormous, heavy, stabby hiking backpack was stupid…

 

But especially stupid was the _graceful_ and _talented_ way you fell down a hole while hiking alone, nearly saved yourself by grabbing a branch (which dislocated your shoulder), fell the rest of the way into the mountain while _flailing_ that shoulder wildly (which caused a few rocks to dislodge and your backpack to slip off), and then finally land in a pile of fucking _flowers_ so that the rocks and backpack could use _you_ as a comfortable landing spot.

 

If you aren’t concussed by this you will swear on your mother’s grave she was right about you having a bone where your brain should be.

 

Far above you winks the dime-sized light that was your downfall (literally), but you couldn’t tell if it is winking due to the trees playing with the sunlight or because your vision is swimming. The good news is that despite the last minute or so’s activity, you are not in much pain. The bad news is (among everything else) you know this is due to shock setting in and having a nap right now could be deadly, so there is no choice but to roll onto your side (trying and failing uncomfortably to remember which arm is dislocated) and get to your knees.

 

Looking around, you see that you fell on a decently thick bed of flowers, all of which are the same cheery golden hue. You think that if your backpack hadn’t hit you in the ribs, the fall might not actually have been that harmful. Oh well. Your legs wobble alarmingly when you try to stand, so you enlist the help of a stout stick and hobble off into the darkness, heaving your backpack onto your screaming shoulders and clicking the safety belt around your waist like you should have done the first goddamn time.

 

At first, you are surprised when you come across purplish bricks laid in the dirt, but the cavern you are reluctantly exploring is huge, so you wonder if this was a holy place for some primitive peoples; a hypothesis that is strengthened when you come across some crumbling walls made from the same kind of brick. You listen to your walking stick _thunk_ against the bricks and try to occupy your tired mind by guessing how large this cavern is based on the sound. The strange part is that you get a different conclusion every time, almost like the cavern is changing shapes to mess with your ears. You are beginning to wonder if this is the concussion setting in when you hear an entirely different noise.

 

“HI!”

 

“Hello!?” You yell immediately, immense relief flooding you at the thought that, improbably, a rescue team must be here. You turn quickly in a circle to locate them, but see nothing: only blackness behind softly luminescent purple bricks.

 

“No, silly! Down here!”

 

When your gaze drops to the little golden flower, waving its leaves at you and smiling brightly, you think you understand. _Ok. I get it_ , says your brain. _These are the delusions_. Cradling your arm, you sit down roughly so you can look it in the face while you go crazy. “Hello, little flower. What a lonely place for you! Why aren’t you with all your friends where I fell, huh?”

 

It smiles with saccharine delight and answers you, “Oh, I’m not like them, human! My name is Flowey! Flowey the flower!”

 

“Of course it is, sweetheart. Why are you following me?”

 

“I’m here to HELP you!” God, even its voice sounds like diabetes. “This is your first time underground, right? Someone has to show you around! I guess that’s little old me!”

 

“Well, stars and bars, little friend! Isn’t it my lucky day!” you exclaim in your best Georgian accent. Come on, body. Pass out already. You can see the spots dancing in your eyes, so it’s just a matter of time.

 

“Welcome to the underground; the magical world of _monsters_! Down here, we share _friendliness_ pellets! Here, catch some!” Finally, the white spots are closing in and you lean into it, welcoming unconsciousness. Imagine your surprise, though, when the spots burn like acid, searing you into total wakefulness. You look from your arms, now sporting angry burns, to the flower.

 

“WHAT THE SHIT!?” The flower isn’t smiling anymore. Its face is contorted with sadistic pleasure, fangs bared.

 

“ _You didn’t catch them aaaaaaaaaall~!_ ” it trills in a demon’s voice.

 

Ok. We’re done here.

 

You are on your feet by the next panicked heartbeat, tripping heavily without the stick (fuck that thing, it’s a dick), but _determined_ to get the fuck out of here. A shrieking laugh splits the air. More acid pellets sail past you and burn the purple bricks where your face was a moment ago. Your backpack is a cacophony in your ear while you run through the ruins, totally heedless which way you are running, but you can just hear the slithering sound of vines behind you. You fly down several purple hallways, knocking over unstable columns and rock piles behind you, figuring that you might crush that terrible flower at the very least when you pull up short at a closed door.

 

“Oh, no! Oh no, oh no.” There is no obvious way to open this thing, so you pound on it with your good fist, whispering hysterically at the hollow, ringing sound on the other side.

 

“Hey!” sings the flower. You don’t need to turn around to imagine its black, staring eyes. “You left in an awful hurry! I still have more to show you!” Vines cut into your legs and give a sharp tug. You fall like a sack of potatoes, tasting blood in your mouth while you are dragged away from the callously closed door. Flowey’s sweet smile is so much more terrible now that you know what it’s hiding, but you stare into his face, resolved that if this is how you die, you are not going to do it crawling and weeping.

 

“What could you possibly show me?” you spit, blood droplets staining the bricks.

 

Instead of answering, his glossy green leaves tremble and you feel a warmth grow in your chest. It looks like a stain at first, but before your eyes, a glowing, amber heart rises through your dirty t-shirt and floats in the air between you.

 

“W-why is my heart… on the _outside_?” you ask, unable to keep a whimper out of your voice.

 

Flowey’s eyes greedily reflect the warm light. “ **A l l  t h e  b e t t e r  t o  E A T  i t,  m y  d e a r!!** ”

 

His vines are plummeting for it. His thorns are extended. You are screaming. There is a massive noise and burning fire is everywhere and you finally, _finally_ get your wish and pass out.

 

xXx

 

When you are aware of yourself again, you are lying down with a soft weight covering you up to the shoulders. You feel hot and stiff, but very present. It is dark when you open your eyes, but after a few slow breaths, you realize that you are in a dim room and not the swallowing darkness of the ruins. Agonizingly, you sit up and a damp washcloth falls off your forehead. Amazing! Someone actually lives down here! You stand up giddily, swinging your feet out of bed and flicking the light on.

 

You are in a child’s room. It’s a good thing you’re short, you think, otherwise your feet would have hung off the end of the little bed. You start to pull the covers back into place, but then stop. Your arm works just fine and when you pull back your filthy t-shirt, there’s no sign of bruising or swelling at your shoulder. How _long_ have I been sleeping here? you think. Was all of that a fever dream? No… you realize when you see scorch marks further down your arm. That’s where the flower…

 

Alarmed, your press your hand to your chest, but after a hushed moment, you feel your heartbeat. You sigh deeply. “He didn’t get it,” you murmur. You need to sit down again and hold yourself. Tears sting your eyes when you think about your glowing heart pierced by those wicked vines. That nightmare, _no, not a nightmare_ , made you feel so helpless and vulnerable. If the fire hadn’t come when it did, you are sure that you would not be sitting here now.

 

Eventually, you beat back the nerves and feel ready to meet the person who cared for you, so you can express your gratitude. You just wish you didn’t have to do it with bird’s nest hair, grimy clothes, and blood spatters everywhere.

 

Outside the child’s room is an adorable little house, brightly lit and decorated with various plants you can’t name. You walk down the hall past a wooden front door and a stairwell to the basement then arrive in a charming sitting room. There is a comfortable plush chair with a book draped over the arm in front of a crackling fireplace. In one corner is a scrubbed dining table and in the other corner stands an overstuffed bookcase which catches your interest. Many titles are worn away, but you find a few reference guides to plants and animals when you hear clinking in the room beyond. Turning, you now see that the table is set with two plates, two glasses, and a squat vase of golden flowers. You take a fallen petal and grimace at it in your hand. The color makes you a little sick. You are still studying it when there is a voice behind you, sweet and low.

 

“My child! You are awake. How are you feeling?”

 

“Much better! I can’t thank you enou----AAAAAHH!” The speaker is a tall, white-furred monster with long ears, short horns, and enormous clawed hands. Her fangs show as she smiles at you with her head tilted to observe you, looking very much like a curious goat in a crushed velvet dress. If not for the kindness in her twinkling eyes, you might have bolted, but then you also notice the tray in her hands laden with a steaming pie. You are able to take a second to reevaluate the situation. True, this lady is a monster, but it is not unreasonable to guess that this is her home, that she is the being who tended your injuries, and that she is now trying to feed you pie. You feel a little ashamed of your first reaction.

 

“E-excuse me,” you say with extreme politeness. “You startled me.”

 

“It is all right, my child!” She beams and you feel like you made the right choice. “Please have a seat. You must be starving.” She sets the tray down and puts a generous slice of pie on each plate before sitting. You can hardly wait to sit before digging in. This pie must have just come out of the oven because first you taste only burning before creamy cinnamon spice asserts itself. Your first slice is gone in an embarrassingly short moment, but rather than chide you for your lack of manners, your host laughs and puts a second piece before you. You manage to eat like a civilized person this time, which allows for conversation.

 

“I can’t thank you enough, ma’am. I was really in trouble earlier.”

 

“Yes. What a horrible creature, preying on such a young, helpless thing,” her ears shake with emotion while she speaks. “I must say that I am impressed that you walked as far as you did. Your injuries were quite extensive.”

 

You nod in agreement. “How long was I asleep?”

 

“All day and night. If you are comfortable with it, I would like to examine you after we eat. I want to make sure everything is healing properly.”

 

“Mmmph,” you say with another mouth full of pie. You think about all of the terrible ramen and mac and cheese you’ve been eating lately and swallow your bite. Maybe she could give you the recipe. “Your pie is delicious miss… um...”

 

“How silly of me to forget!” She says, her cheeks flushing with embarrassment. “My name is Toriel.”

 

“And my name is __________.” You set down your fork, nothing but crumbs left on your plate. “I really am so grateful for your help, but I have so many questions.”

 

Toriel stands up, smoothing her purple robes. You realize that she matches the ruins. “I am happy to answer anything I can for you, but first, please stand here in the light.” You oblige and she begins gently touching first your shoulder, and then your ribs. It hardly even feels painful. She points your ankles and shows you the marks left by the vines. They look just like the burns on your arms. “For some reason, I cannot help these or these,” she says apologetically. “Perhaps they will heal with time, but there may be scars.” She also touches your head and looks into your eyes. Her eyes are a deep, liquid brown and look at you with such an intense tenderness that it makes you feel vulnerable and embarrassed. You can’t remember the last time someone was this close to you or looked into your eyes that way.

 

“Your eyes are a little unfocused,” she concludes at length. “I think you should rest more to be safe. Come; we will talk in your room after you have a chance to make yourself more comfortable.”

 

You allow yourself to be bustled back down the hallway into an antique bathroom. Toriel hands you a fluffy white towel and demonstrates how to kick the wall so that the hot water works. “No reason to turn a cold shoulder!” she says, winking, and you suppose that such a kind person could have a worse flaw than bad humor. When she closes the door, you peel off your dirty t-shirt and jeans, sadly noting the many severe rips and stains. These probably can’t be saved, but at least they weren’t your favorites. When you ball them up to throw them away, you catch a look at yourself in the full-length mirror on the back of the door and recoil from the ragamuffin that looks back.

 

Your hair is tangled and wild and there are fading bruises all over your neck, face and shoulders. You look thinner than usual… paler, too. The shiny red burn marks stand out garishly this way. The worst, however, is your face. There are dark circles under your eyes. Your pupils are unusually dilated, it’s true, but they also look haunted, like you’re still scared. When you think about it, you probably are. You don’t know where you are or exactly how long you’ve been here, you had a nasty accident resulting in more than one injury, and you met a terrible creature whose grotesque smile will probably be in your nightmares to come. Not to mention everything else that’s happened lately... You look away from yourself and get quickly into a blessed stream of warm water, forgetting about your situation and troubles if only for a moment. You scrub at your face and legs, hoping that if you make your body clean enough, it will wash away the terrible memories as well. It doesn’t exactly work, but you do feel better when the wash water eventually runs clear and you can drag your fingers through your hair snarls.

 

While you were showering, Toriel must have come and left a long nightgown and fluffy pink bathrobe for you. Both look like they were the height of fashion in the late 1800’s. You put them on gratefully and return to the child’s room where Toriel is humming to herself in a rocking chair. This time you can read the title of her book: 72 uses for snails. “Feeling better?” she says, smiling, as you approach. She sets aside her book and straightens a small pair of golden spectacles on her long nose. “Good. Let us make you comfortable…. There. Now, what did you want to ask me? I’m all ears.” She laughs and shakes her head side to side, making her long ears wiggle. You giggle appreciatively and try to think of which questions are the most important.

 

“Where am I?”

 

“You are in the underground, my child. This is where monsters have lived for many, many years since the humans banished us.”

 

“Really?” You are surprised. “I’ve never heard of that. I thought monsters were made up by kids that were afraid of the dark.”

 

She smiles kindly. “I’m afraid not. I have a few books on the human-monster wars I can show you, if you’d like to know more.”

 

“I was going to ask… but I guess you just told me… Are you the only one down here?”

 

Her rocking slows down a bit. “No…” she answers. “No, there are others. The underground is quite large, actually, but our world down here is very dangerous, child, especially for humans. I have tried to make a safe home here, away from… others.”

 

“Ok. Do you know that flower from before?”

 

She thinks about it for a long while. “No. No, I don’t think so.”

 

“Well… that flower… he did something to me.” Toriel sits up attentively at your shift in tone. “He… pulled something out of me. My heart. What was that?”

 

Toriel peers at you over her golden glasses. “I believe that was your soul, my child. If it is so, then you are very, very lucky you got my attention when you did. Monsters can manipulate the souls of others and often bring them out to fight with them. That little weed could have done real damage to you.” Her hand hovers over the place in your chest where you remember the heart (your soul!) coming from. She breathes a sigh of relief and continues, “You appear to be fine now. Promise me in the future you won’t be _soul_ careless.” Toriel laughs and the tension of the moment dissipates. Your laugh turns into a jaw-cracking yawn. At this, Toriel turns off the lights and pulls the bedcovers up to your chin.

 

“Rest now, __________. I will see you when you wake again.” As your eyes close, a soft paw strokes your hair.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Death Count: 1
> 
> I promise that there is a definite plan for this fic: it should start as something pretty familiar and then later spiral wildly out of control. Tags and descriptions and pertinent information will be added as necessary.


	2. In the Forest

It is dark in the room when you wake. You stretch, still sore, though you are healed, and switch on the light. There is a note on the nightstand and an old nokia phone that looks like it’s been through hell and back.

 

My child,

           I thought it would be convenient for you to have this cell phone, which has my number in it if you need anything. Please feel free to make yourself comfortable!

            Love,

            Toriel

P.S. Your pack is on the dining room table. I am afraid that it was badly damaged, but maybe you can find something that is still useful.

 

Oh, no! That pack was everything you had… if everything inside were salvageable that would be the best, but you remember the angry flames before darkness and think that’s probably not likely. Stomach knotted with anxiety, you wriggle out of the little-house-on-the-prairie nightgown and examine the contents of the wardrobe.

 

Someone in this house really likes stripes, but for your short frame, you decide against choosing anything with that pattern. Looking like a beachball was never your style. Instead, you decide on a thick canvas skirt that hangs in heavy folds to your ankles, a dark blue blouse with long sleeves, and some sturdy socks that will keep your feet from blistering in your tattered hiking boots. These were chosen from the nearly exclusive assortment of children's clothes in the wardrobe, making you thankful once again for your small size. Though you looked, you find neither underwear nor bras, but you check in the mirror and can’t see anything offensive about your current silhouette, so you decide that support won’t be necessary in the underground. In the bathroom, you check your eyes. They seem normal today, so maybe you can start your trip back to the surface. You hope that you won’t have to impose on Toriel for too many supplies; she has done so much for you already…

 

On the table, as promised, is your backpack… or at least, what’s left. It is a pile of scorched canvas and melted plastic instruments. With dismay, you separate some pieces to see what you can find but… it’s not much. Your old metal canteen seems fine as does your small flashlight, but your packaged food and iodine tablets are toast. Spare socks and clothes, gone. You can’t even get the case for your binoculars open, it’s so badly warped.

 

“Did you find anything, my child?” Toriel comes in from the kitchen and lays a sympathetic hand on your shoulder.

 

“Not really, most of my stuff really took it on the chin. Oh wait; my compass!” You take out the beaten instrument and immediately check the back to see if your grandfather’s carved name is still legible. You smile with relief and turn it over to see a crazily spinning needle. “Huh. That’s weird.”

 

Toriel heads back to the kitchen and says airily, “I expect it is due to the barrier.”

 

You shake the compass like that’s going to make it behave. “What barrier?”

 

“Ah… well.” When you look up, Toriel seems uncomfortable, twisting a dishtowel in her paws. “The barrier is what keeps us down here, my child. Long ago, after the monster and human wars, the human magicians locked us away with a magic seal, you see.” You want to ask more, but she looks so discomfited that you can’t bring yourself to.

 

“Well, that will be an issue,” you say mildly while slipping the compass in your pocket (oh my god, a skirt with pockets!) along with your flashlight. The cell phone she gave you is already in the other pocket, but the canteen (in addition to being through several wars, you’re sure) has a cool clip that you hook to the waist of your skirt. “I guess I’ll solve that problem later.”

 

Toriel has stopped in the doorway of the kitchen. She isn’t twisting the towel anymore, it hangs limply in her hand. “What do you mean, my child?” Her eyes are focused on your face, searching it for… something.

 

You smile at her, pretending that your heart isn’t pounding under her unwavering gaze. “I’ll have to figure out how to cross it when I get there. How far away is it? The barrier, I mean.”

 

“Oh no, dear,” she says in a light tone, making a great show of returning to washing dishes. “You are not able to make that kind of journey. Why don’t I tell you some interesting snail facts over breakfast? Or you can take a look at the history book we spoke of last night.”

 

“Toriel,” you say in a firm, convincing tone, following her and standing in the doorway between kitchen and sitting room, “I should get going sooner rather than later if I want to get home. You have been so kind, but I don’t want to overstay my welcome.”

 

She turns and looks at you again with those deep brown eyes. “You misunderstand me, ________. It’s impossible to go to the surface. No one has done it and lived.” She says this in a final, authoritative tone.

 

You look back at her for a long minute, a prickle of dread creeping up your spine. “Are… are you going to keep me here?”

 

Her mouth opens, but then shuts again. Her ears tremble. Finally, she says, “I have to go run an errand. Stay here.” Then she rushes past you out of the kitchen, moving very quickly for such a large monster. You, however, are hot on her heels, peppering her with questions.

 

“What do you mean ‘no one has done it and lived’? Has someone crossed the barrier and _not_ lived?”

 

“I meant exactly what I said. Go back upstairs.” You are both at the bottom of the stairs, speeding down a long hallway. Her deep purple robes snap threateningly behind her bare feet.

 

“Toriel, what are you protecting me from? The flower? Other monsters?”

 

“Every human that comes down here meets the same fate. I have seen it again and again. They come,  they leave, they die. They… ASGORE will kill you. Turn back!” Her massive claws rake the stones around a sharp corner.

 

You are jogging to keep up. “Why will they kill me? Is there still a war?”

 

“They want your soul. They will take it from you!”

 

“Why do they want my soul?”

 

“This is your final warning! Go back!”

 

Around the corner, you skid to a halt. Looming behind Toriel is a giant pair of dark purple doors with a curious winged symbol etched deeply into the stone. Her back is to you.

 

“Toriel…” you breathe, still hoping to evoke some reason from the distressed monster.

 

“Prove it to me,” she says coldly, turning to you with a face like the stones of the ruins. You realize that the symbol on her robes is exactly the same as the one on the doors. “If you want to leave, prove to me you are strong enough to survive.” Without warning, a wall of fire rushes you. The only thing you can think of to do is spring over it, like it is a burning jump rope. Right behind it are two more waves of fire that you narrowly avoid by pressing yourself to the wall. 

 

“Toriel! Please! Stop this!”

 

“There is nothing more to say.” She punctuates this with a curving fireball bursting from her outstretched fingertips. You are not as successful as dodging this one and you feel its heat crash over you. Suddenly, it is darkness everywhere. You see yourself falling, dragging yourself along the cutting, rocky ground. You see Flowey’s terrible face, feel his burning acid pellets, his scraping thorns. You feel the determination to stare him down and spit blood in his face. You gasp as you see his vines lunge for your soul, and…

 

You are back. _What was that?_ It seems you fell to the floor in a dead faint, which ironically saved your life. Your face is pressed against the cool flagstones and Toriel is watching you with narrowed eyes. Your determination gathers. “No, Toriel,” you say courageously, standing quickly. “I _am_ going, and I _am_ going to get through the barrier.” You jump neatly over another rope of fire feeling like the strongest human in the world.

 

“Stop it.”

 

“Can’t you see that I _have_ to try?” you implore her, leaning wildly to avoid of a spray of fire droplets like burning rain.

 

“Don’t speak to me that way!”

 

“My home is on the surface!” you pant, barely dodging another fireball large enough to occupy nearly the entire hallway. “I _need_ to go back!”

 

“Stop arguing!”

 

“TORIEL! Please!!”

 

“WHY?” Toriel demands finally, stomping her foot and causing a blinding flash of flames to light the dark hallway. “Why do you have to try? We can have a good life here. I promise I will take care of you.” Even in your heightened state, you recognize that these words are different, these words mean something more. You bravely approach her.

 

“Toriel… I have to try. I’ll be okay, you’ll see,” you say, willing her to understand. The flames are dimmer now, further away. She isn’t meeting your eyes.

 

There is a long, pregnant silence while you wait in front of her, barely an arm’s length away. You can hardly breathe. “Please stay?” she says in barely more than a whisper.

 

Slowly, you take her hands without speaking. They are soft and heavy. Her claws retract like a cat’s, you suppose. “No,” she murmurs at last, smiling sadly. “You’re right. I cannot make you stay. If you want to leave, I will not stop you. But please, my child… if you go? Do not come back. I hope you understand.” Toriel looks at you with eyes shining full of tears. You nod, a lump in your throat stifling the comforting words you long to say. She pats your hair and hugs you. Her thick fur is lightly scented of burning coals and warm to the touch. You both try to put everything you can’t say into your embrace: your regret, your hope, your love. It is bittersweet when you eventually part.

 

“Goodbye, Toriel.”

 

“Goodbye, my child.” You watch her pad away, back to the ruins, back to her empty home. Before your determination gives out, you stride through the doors, which open for you. You find yourself walking faster and faster until you are almost running away from the ruins, around a barren tree and into a snowy forest. Maybe you think you can outrun your fear, maybe you think that if you’re too slow, you’ll turn back around. You don’t know, but you’re definitely not willing to wait around and find out.

 

xXx

 

The forest is comfortably silent, all noise absorbed by light, fluffy snow. You've been following a bare dirt path, for which you are grateful. Maybe it snowed long ago and hasn’t melted yet, or maybe this path is well used, but either way, it might mean that you get somewhere before you freeze through your skirt and blouse. Wet socks tell you that your sinful boots are holier than you previously thought.

 

You are still mostly jogging down the path when you spy a wooden bridge ahead. The sight of what is clearly meant to be a fence makes you stop for a moment, unsure whether to laugh at the comical absurdity of the wide bars that an elephant could charge through or feel anxious that there is a fence at all. _If I laugh alone in a forest, is the joke still funny?_ you think, catching your breath. It is so quiet you feel like this is easily where Frost could have written his famous poem. The pines are so tall their tips disappear into the heavy, fluffy clouds. There is a light dusting of white on the top log of the fence, but none on the handrails. It feels like a good sign that the bridge is used often enough to clear the snow away.

 

It's time to go some miles before you sleep when…

 

**SNAP**

 

Visions of a murderous golden flower instantly fill your mind’s eye and you spin around so fast you fall right over into a snowdrift. A shadowed figure appears in the trees and disappears so quickly that if you blinked, you’re not sure you would have seen it. With your heart in your throat, you scramble backwards, managing to gain your feet right as you get to the bridge, but when you touch the wood, you become paralyzed. It is obvious after only a moment that this is not a fear-based paralysis, but an actual inability to move your limbs. There is not much you can do to control the thunderous pulse in your ears or your near-hyperventilation.

 

“h u m a n,” says a low, quiet voice behind you. In your opinion, things really need to stop beginning conversations behind you. “d o n ’t  y o u  k n o w  h o w  t o  g r e e t  a  n e w  p a l? turn around and shake my hand…”

 

You close your eyes to steel yourself and hope against hope that your last thought isn’t “Toriel was right”. Surprisingly, your limbs unlock and you can turn around slowly, hardly daring to breathe. At first, there is nothing but an empty path behind you, so you let out your breath in a great _whuff_.  You are almost allowed to feel relief when the shadowy figure appears only an inch in front of your face! You scream and see a flash of electric blue light before you aggressively lose consciousness once more.


	3. New Friends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reader meets a her match in a pair of familiar faces.

The next thing you know, you are very cold; very cold and somewhat stiff.

 

“hey,” says the deep voice, less quietly than before.

 

“Hey.” Your voice sounds groggy and thick. “Did I fall asleep?”

 

The voice hesitates only a moment. “yeah. you were out for a while. do you wanna get up?”

 

“Mmmmm… yes. I think so.”

 

“here.” You sense a hand being extended and then two things happen. First, you open your eyes and get a good look at the person who’s talking. A thick skeleton in a blue hoodie and black track shorts kneels beside you. You stare at the gleaming white skull with it’s grinning teeth and wonder if you’ve fallen straight into hell and this is your gatekeeper. He (at least, based on the voice you think it’s a ‘he’) peers intently at you with deep black eyesockets pierced only by bright pinpricks of dancing lights. You think about taking your hand back, but he’s already pulling you up when...

 

Second, there is a loud, long, familiar sound.

 

_ PPPPPPPBBBBBBBBTTTTTTTHTHHHHhHhHHhhhhh… _

 

You goggle at him. “Did you just…?”

 

“help you up with a whoopie cushion in the hand? yep.” He beams and shows off all his teeth. You look at the hand you’re holding and see a pink rubber toy showing right through the phalanges. You think they’re called phalanges. A quick look at the rest of him confirms your first impression: this monster is entirely a skeleton. The bright pupils of his eyesockets twinkle mischievously. It is now that you realize his skull is malleable because the ridge of his skull where eyebrows would be is raised, waiting to see your reaction.

 

Despite yourself, your fatigue, your fear, and your cold, trembling fingers… you smile. “Heh,” you respond a bit weakly, “I definitely wasn’t expecting that.”

 

“i thought it might give you a _second_ _wind._ ” Oh no. He makes puns, too! _Is this some kind of weird monster fetish?_ It catches you off guard and you laugh, falling right back down on your ass like a dork. The skeleton beams at you, then helps you stand again with hardly any effort and to your great surprise, you look right into his eyes. There can’t be an inch of difference in your height, but whereas you are curvy and feminine in build, he is quite broad of shoulder and stocky, like a weightlifter.

 

“Man,” you say before you can stop yourself, “for a guy without any muscles, you are really strong,” and for a moment, you peer at his body like you’re expecting to see something else, but you stop quickly when you realize that he’s watching you intently. You feel your cheeks flush with embarrassment. Is he sensitive about being a skeleton?

 

“you think it’s really  _ handy? _ ” he says, winking and squeezing the hand of yours he is still holding. You groan theatrically. Two can play at this game.

 

“Un- _ bone _ -levable,” you say, watching his skull out the side of your eye. If possible, his grin becomes wider.

 

“what? aren’t I  _ humerus? _ ”

 

“I don’t have all day to stand here and  _ jaw _ about it,” you respond with a laugh, reluctantly taking back your hand. It is now officially the only warm part of your body since your clothing is damp from your first tumble in the snow. You resist stamping your feet to get your blood moving and settle for holding your arms to protect them from the breeze.

 

Meanwhile, the skeleton looks at you like you are the most fascinating thing he has ever seen and slowly returns his hand to his jacket pocket. “the name’s sans,” he says, peering intently into your face.

 

“___________,” you return politely, though you are starting to feel uncomfortable under his gaze and turn towards the bridge again.

 

“i’m supposed to be on patrol here,” he says, shuffling his feet in the snow behind you, “on the lookout for humans… but  _ patella _ you the truth, i don’t feel like capturing anyone today.” You wonder if by ‘anyone’ he means you specifically.

 

“I’m on my way… um… out.” Suddenly, you don’t feel confident about telling a complete stranger where you are going. Toriel’s words of caution still ring freshly in your head. You squeeze your elbows to keep from feeling guilty about leaving her and note with disappointment that your hand isn’t warm anymore. You shake away the thought that you’d like it if Sans would wrap his arms around you and share  _ all _ his warmth. Unconsciously, your eyes flick to his grinning face and away again.

 

“well, the only way  _ out _ that i know goes through Snowdin. that’s where i live,” Sans replies like he knows what you were thinking. “you’re gonna have to go through the forest, though.” He nods at the dirt path winding through the trees. “my brother set up this fence and all the puzzles after it. he’s obsessed with capturing humans.”

 

“Oh.” Damnit, maybe this trip is going to be long. Toriel deliberately didn’t tell you anything about how far away the barrier was before she attacked you, so you’re shooting in the dark here about how urgently you need to get there. Still, stopping in a town to get some supplies and warm up sounds like a wise move, even if you have to get through human traps to get there.  _ If they’re all like this fence, thought, it might not be too hard _ … you think. Your skirt is sticking to your legs and you are still acutely aware that you didn’t have any underwear to put on earlier. Everything is made of shivering. “I’d b-better g-get moving, then, if I’ve g-got a ways to go,” you say with chattering teeth.

 

“hey, are you cold? here.” A heavy blue jacket settles around your shoulders. It is incredibly warm and you slip your arms in gratefully, enjoying a light scent that you can’t quite name. Sans is smiling warmly at you, his entire upper half only covered now by a white t-shirt. His ribs create a chiaroscuro relief on the material that fascinates you. “let’s go to my station first, it’s just up here.”

 

Briefly, Toriel’s warnings concerning your soul ring in your head again, but then you feel your thighs actually sticking together from the cold and ignore her. “Y-yeah, ok. Thanks.”

 

You follow the stout skeleton through the ‘fence’ and down the path, completely absorbed by the way his bones move as he slouches along, fuzzy slippers barely kicking up snow.  _ 7 bones in the cervical spine; 12 in the thoracic _ ;  _ 4, no, 5 in the lumbar... _ You wonder how they work with no muscles or nerves and you are trying to nonchalantly shuffle closer to see if you can spot some kind of support in between the vertebrae when Sans suddenly turns, eye lights shining brightly only a few inches from your face.

 

“here comes my brother!” he whispers conspiratorially, “this is gonna be great, go hide behind that tree.” Nonplussed, you follow his pointing finger and trudge a little way off the path to hide behind a sweet-smelling pine tree. There is less snow here under the green needles, so you kneel, tuck your skirt around your legs, and peek around the trunk.

 

“SANS! YOU ARE NOT AT YOUR POST!” trumpets a shrill, demanding voice. From what you presume to be the direction of town strides a quite tall skeleton clad in a ridiculous getup. From his overlarge red leather boots to the fluttering crimson cape streaming from his shoulders, this monster looks like he is ready to hold up an overlarge sword at any minute and announce his attack for five episodes. “WHAT IF A HUMAN CAME BY WHILE YOU WERE OUT ON A WALK??”

 

“i dunno, i thought it might be useful to go out looking at all the trees, y’know?” Wait, what was that about trees? If it were possible, your blood runs even colder.

 

“I AM NOT INTERESTED IN TREES!” Sans’ brother crows, shaking a fist in the air dramatically. “CAPTURING A TREE WILL NOT HELP ME BECOME A ROYAL GUARD!”

 

“are you sure, papyrus? that one might,” says Sans, pointing straight at your tree with unnerving accuracy for someone who isn’t looking where they’re pointing.  _ That sonuvabitch! _ Did he set you up? You hold your breath for the tall skeleton’s reply.

 

“YES, I’M SURE! UGH! I NEED TO GO CHECK THE PUZZLES.”

 

“hey, you just got here. don’t  _ leaf _ already!”

 

Papyrus stomps the ground with frustration. “THE DAY THAT HUMANS ARE STOPPED IN THEIR TRACKS BY YOUR TERRIBLE HUMOR, I, THE GREAT PAPYRUS, WILL EAT MY CAPE!”

 

“no need  _ tibia _ drama bones, paps.”

 

This proves to be too much for the tall skeleton, who storms away, raging about lazy siblings and lack of appreciation. You let out the breath you were holding and lean against the pine tree, trying to decide whether or not you are mad at Sans for scaring you when there is a soft  _ pop _ behind you. You turn and come suddenly face to face with the short, grinning skeleton himself. Unlike some, you have never been one to scream with surprise or fear. Instead, you tend to freeze while your heart pounds an overload of adrenaline into your blood. Like right now. Your lips go numb with cold and fear.

 

“hey. cat got your tongue or are you just  _ rattled _ to see me?”

 

“No!” you squeak in an uncomfortably high voice. “No, I’m just really interested in your unique ability to get from one place to another without walking; that seems like a really  _ sans _ -ational power!”

 

Sans bursts into hearty, appreciative laughter. Your heart gradually calms its tempo while you watch his ribs shake with mirth. He wipes away an invisible tear while repeating ‘ _ sans-sational _ ’ to himself.

 

“Wow,” you say, finally. “I’m glad you enjoy fine humor. Hey, did you overdo it with your brother? He seemed pretty upset.”

 

“nah,” Sans replies, glancing the direction his brother left with a fond grin and sitting on the ground beside you. “i think paps likes to have something to complain about. gives him a sense of purpose besides capturing humans.”

 

“Uh-huh…” you feel uncomfortable thinking about being captured and pluck up your courage. “Ok, serious talk time: I know that somebody called Asgore wants my soul and I know that it has something to do with a barrier that makes it so none of the monsters can leave the underground, but... why? What does my soul have to do with anything? Is that why you’re on the lookout for humans and Papyrus wants to capture one? Is that why I was told to be careful?” You look Sans fully in the face and search his expression for some clue. “What am I up against, here?”

 

Sans’s eyes grow more plastic with each question you ask. He still smiles preposterously, but it no longer lifts his browbones like he means it. When you’re finished, he looks away and replies, rubbing the back of his skull with one hand.

 

“that’s kind of a long story, kid... with a lot riding on how you take the answer. i’m happy to tell you, if you want, but not for nothing.” He taps your knee thoughtfully with two fingers. “i tell you what: you do me a big favor here, and we’ll sit down someplace and talk.”

 

“You sound like you already have a favor in mind,” you say shrewdly, ignoring the thrill of warmth that his tapping fingers caused.

 

“haha, yeah. you heard my bro talking about being in the royal guard? all he wants in the world is to capture a human. he thinks it will solve all his problems; friends, respect, fulfillment... everything.”

 

“Are you saying you want me to get captured by him?”

 

Sans shrugs vaguely. “i’d like you to help him out.”

 

That wasn’t a yes or no answer. You tap his knee with two of your fingers. “Can you promise me that I won’t get hurt, mister magic teleportation guy?”

 

He takes your hand it in both of his and shifts his posture so that he is kneeling in front of you, He declaims in a pseudo-solemn voice betrayed by a wide, sappy grin, “i can promise you that neither papyrus nor i have any intention of hurting you and that i will do what i can to keep it that way, pal.”

 

You eyeball the skeleton, thinking again that he is not answering your questions in a way that makes sense. Judging from his expression, though, he knows it and he seems to know that you know it as well. It makes you wonder whether he is doing it to be obnoxious or because he has another agenda.  _ No reason it couldn’t be both, _ you consider, evaluating this skeleton man who is asking you to trust him with your freedom… and possibly your life. Is the information you need worth the danger of putting faith in someone who has admitted they want to capture you?

  
At last, you place your free hand on top of both of Sans’. “Agreed. Let’s go.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In exchange for giving you a slightly shorter chapter, I'm putting in up early. I tried very sincerely to make it feel like reader and Sans are on an even playing field in terms of getting what they want.
> 
> Death count: 2


	4. Drama School Rejects

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For your listening pleasure, this music is partially inspiration for this chapter.
> 
> (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jiOosnkGrYo)

Stupid Sans.

 

Stupid Sans and his stupid charismatic smile.

 

Stupid Sans’ stupid charismatic smile and his ridiculous plan involving you waiting alone in wet clothes in the snow after taking back his jacket. You are going to become a frozen blueberry any second and it’s All. Sans’. Fault.

 

Swearing mildly to yourself, you come down the dirt path sooner than planned, not caring if it’s been enough time for Sans to find his brother and get him in position; you’re just cold and can’t wait anymore. While the path through the forest is mostly straight, it’s not very well maintained and you are surprised by a sudden decline, so you break into a jog. This turns out to be a mistake due to the large quantity of loose rocks bared by runoff water that you have to avoid. You avoid them poorly, tripping quite a lot. It is just as you spot the skeleton brothers talking together at the bottom of the hill that you suddenly skid on a patch of gravel and go tumbling ass over teakettle. With a total lack of dignity, you land in a heap at the bottom.

 

“SANS, LOOK! THE HUMAN YOU TOLD ME ABOUT HAS DISCOVERED A MORE EFFICIENT WAY OF TRAVELING!”

 

“Yes. Exactly. You got me. I am the most efficient human.” Painfully, you stand and check your pockets to secure your few belongings before facing the brothers. The tall skeleton, Papyrus, is posing much like Wonder Woman, with one hand on a bony hip and the other gesturing emphatically to punctuate his very, very loud words.

 

“IT IS WELL THAT YOU RUSHED HERE! I WOULD ALSO BE EXCITED TO MEET ME, THE GREAT PAPYRUS, AND TEST YOUR SKILLS AGAINST THE EXCELLENT JAPERIES OF THE FUTURE ROYAL GUARD!” You glance at Sans to get a clue how to respond to this outrageous pronouncement and receive a lazy wink for your trouble. Papyrus waits expectantly for your reply, so you tap into some long-buried middle school acting skills.

 

“Indeed!” you reply in your most booming voice, gesturing wildly with your hands, “I have heard tell of the great and mighty Papyrus whose… um… _grand puzzles_ are famed for their… uh… _punishing complexity_ and determined that I should come... _experience_ them for myself!” Somewhere, your drama teacher is face-palming and doesn't know why.

 

“EXCELLENT~!” Papyrus hoots, throwing his gloved hands in the air while his cape inexplicably flutters in the still air. “YOU MAY BEGIN WITH THE DEVASTATING AND DANGEROUS ELECTRIC WALL PUZZLE! YOU MUST FIND YOUR WAY ACROSS THE GROUND BEFORE YOU WITHOUT TOUCHING THE DEADLY ELECTRIFIED WALLS! STEP FORWARD IF YOU DARE!”

 

 _Is this guy serious?_ There is nothing in front of you. With a big shrug, you step forward and run smack into something very solid.

 

“AAAAAAH!” “What the hell!?” you and the skeleton shout at the same time. You rub your offended nose and scowl accusingly at the skeleton who is both holding a glowing glass orb and smoking slightly. Sans leans over to his brother and whispers to him, failing completely to hide a delighted grin.

 

Papyrus looks at you, then the orb in his hand, then you again, and finally back to the orb. “YES, SANS! AN EXCELLENT POINT!” He sprints in a bizarre zig-zag across the snow between you and balances the orb on your head. Before you can protest indignantly, he is back across the snow beside his brother. “NOW PROCEED!”

 

Pursing your lips to avoid saying something scathing about Papyrus’ puzzle, you take the orb from your head and look at it. It’s just a smooth glass orb, nothing special, but through it, you see Papyrus’ tracks in the snow and have to stop yourself from rolling your eyes. You follow the trail, carefully stepping in his boot-prints in case there are floor traps in this maze as well and emerge on the other side.

 

“AMAZING! YOU SOLVED THE PUZZLE SO QUICKLY! I SHALL HAVE TO TRY HARDER WITH FUTURE CONUNDRUMS!” He smiles broadly at you and bounds away into the forest, cape flapping ridiculously behind him.

 

“Does this mean I win?” You say sotto-voce to Sans as he sidles up. You can still see Papyrus dashing away around the trees and you don’t want to hurt the skeleton’s feelings in case his hearing is incredibly good. He’s so excited about these puzzles.

 

“haha, no. that was dumb luck.” Sans nudges your shoulder with his. “thanks for playing along, though. your acting skills are _electrifying_.”

 

“God, you’re awful. It _puzzles_ me why you keep trying.” You laugh, but sway dangerously. Sans’ hand is immediately on your arm, supporting you. He’s so warm to the touch.

 

“are you okay, bud?”

 

You frown at your wobbling knees and make a mental note to give them a stern lecture later. “I’m not sure. I’ve been really out of it today,” you say lightly. Sans’ worried face makes you smile, especially the crease in the middle of his brow. “I’ll be okay. Stick to the plan, yeah?”

 

“...yeah.” Slowly, he takes back his hand, watching you intently as though you are going to disappear, and then shrugs as if to say, _it’s your decision_.

 

You walk the direction that Papyrus absconded, the plan being that Sans will monitor your progress without revealing himself to be doing so. Sans predicted that his brother would be taken with your willingness to endure multiple convoluted puzzles and independently come up with the idea to befriend you, which would save you from capture. The short monster had been irritatingly cavalier about what would happen were this not the case. Your completely justified protests had been met with indulgent laughs and lazy shrugs, a fact that made an indignant flush rise to your cheeks.

 

You are still fuming about it while you pass a golf-like snowball game, several doghouses, snow sculptures, weird puzzles that look like tic-tac-toe at first, but totally aren’t, and a frozen plate of spaghetti with an aroma so appetizing you know you’re starving. One piece of pie almost a day ago was simply not enough. You around the forest and realize that the light is waning. This strikes you as odd since there is no sign of the underground opening to the surface anywhere above you. Instead, you see soft, fluffy grey clouds hanging high enough to look like sky, but low enough to obscure most of the cavern’s ceiling. It looks so much like a snowy day on the surface that you completely stop in your tracks and stare.

 

“HUMAN! ARE YOU READY TO CONTINUE?” You have caught up to Papyrus and Sans. As before, Papyrus stands directly in your path while Sans stands a little off to the side, hands in his hoodie pockets.

 

“Huh? Oh, yes. I was just looking at the clouds.”

 

“ARE YOU ANTICIPATING YOUR CAPTURE?”

 

You make a face. “Um, no. I was actually thinking about the surface. These clouds look an awful lot like the ones up there, but right now, they would be different colors because the sun is setting; reds and oranges and purple.” In the corner of your eye, you see that Papyrus is staring rapturously at you, eyes twinkling with delight. Encouraged, you continue, gesturing upwards at the , “The best sunset I ever saw had puffy clouds just like these, but all the way across the sky. As the sun went down over the mountain, they all turned the brightest, fieriest orange I’ve ever seen. It looked like the whole sky was burning. I’ll never forget it.” You smile at him, enjoying his appreciation of your little story.

 

“WOWIE… THE SURFACE SOUNDS AMAZING…” says Papyrus, longingly.

 

“It is.” When he keeps staring, you pointedly cough into your fist and gesture at the ground. “The puzzle?”

 

“YES!” he screeches, instantly returning to game-master mode. “PLEASE TRY YOUR HAND THIS ONE, CREATED AND TESTED BY THE UNBEATABLE DR. ALPHYS!” Papyrus throws a switch on a mechanical box you hadn’t noticed before and the ground before you lights up with intensely colored boxes. You stare at the ground for a moment, forgetting to pay attention to the tall skeleton’s instructions, and just watch the colors flash, mesmerized. You are so tired. You sincerely hope there’s a bed and a shower at the end of all this.

 

“...THAT NO ONE HAS SEEN BEFORE! WELL, HUMAN? DID YOU UNDERSTAND ALL OF THAT?” Four bright pinpricks in dark eyesockets watch you surface suddenly and grasp for an answer.

 

“Uh… yes! Yes, of course! How simple it all is, really!” Oh god, you’re so screwed.

 

“THEN PREPARE TO BE CONFOUNDED! NYEH HEH HEH!!” You privately think that Papyrus’ maniacal laugh could use a little more… substance, but nevertheless look apprehensively at the square machine beside Sans. Papyrus reaches out and with great flourish, turns a knob that causes the colors on the ground to flash brighter and more quickly. Faster and faster they vacillate until you squeeze your eyes shut. You feel nauseous.

 

 _Ding!_ You look up with a start, glancing around for the microwave and realize that the noise was the machine finishing your puzzle. Before you is a wide, easily-walkable peach stripe flanked by red. _What does this even mean?_ When you look up, Papyrus is backing away awkwardly, trying to blend in with the forest; a totally impossible task when one is wearing bright goddamn orange. You roll your eyes, which makes your head hurt worse, and trudge across the puzzle.

 

Sans whistles and you forget to be interested in how he manages to do so without lips or tongue. “wow. who could have seen that coming?”

 

“Whatever works. Is there much left?”

 

“not much now,” he replies softly, still staring off after his brother with a goofy grin. When his deep voice sounds like that, it makes you want to lay your head on his chest and sleep for hours. You close your eyes just for a moment; just to absorb how cold you are, how tired and headachey you feel, and how very much you long to lie down in the snow and refuse to continue, then start abruptly. Your cheek is touching something fuzzy with a familiar light scent. Further, your waist is encircled by a strong, warm arm.

 

Glancing up through your eyelashes, you see Sans’ jaw. Apparently, you leaned over during your moment and decided to solve your problems by taking a snooze on the nearest available skeleton. The skeleton in question was only too obliging to help keep you standing and politely stare in another direction.

 

“Excuse me!” you say quickly, taking a step away and smoothing your hair to cover your embarrassment. “I’m not sure what came over me.”

 

“i just figured you were so good at puzzles you could do them with your eyes closed.” His smile seems unperturbed and he gives your hip a friendly squeeze before taking back his arm. “are you ok to keep going?”

 

You think about it and realize that your catnap had improved your mood quite a bit. You were much warmer after using Sans like a personal furnace plus your exhaustion, while not beaten entirely, could be held off for a while longer. “Yes. Yes, actually.”

 

“great! he went that way. i’ll _siesta_ you there.” After an appreciative chuckle, you set off briskly around the snow poffs. You don’t see the twinkling eye lights watching you leave or the blue flush on the skeleton’s cheekbones. This is just as well, because you have shit to do, and so does he.

 

You come to a long, swinging bridge. On the other side, you see the gleaming white and orange smudge you recognize to be Papyrus waiting for you. The bridge looks to be made of sturdy wood with ropes that aren’t rotten or fraying, but the whole thing sways back and forth over a deep ravine. The trees at the bottom look no bigger than matches. You tentatively take a step onto the first board, then immediately leap back when it moves. The Atacama desert could not be dryer than your mouth. With pleading eyes, you look across the ravine again and see Sans pop into existence behind Papyrus, who is waving his arms enthusiastically. He waves lazily and taps the bone right next to his left eye. You feel like this should mean something specific, but you’re at a loss for what. Knowing that he’s still looking out for you, though, gives you a brief thrill of courage. Maybe you can make it across before it fades.

 

Looking up at the darkening sky, you put both hands on the ropes and step deliberately, one foot after the other. The solid _thock_ of wood under your boots is reassuring, but not reassuring enough for you to chance a look down to lose your nerve again. The soft clouds keep you calm, barely. They are the same color as the fur trim on Sans’ hoodie, you notice. All at once, a quick gust of wind buffets the bridge and you fall to your knees. _It looks like I made it to the middle,_ you think, clinging fiercely to board and rope. _Is it undignified for me to crawl the rest of the way?_

 

You are still deciding when the wind fades and you feel uncompromisingly compelled to stand. A quick look at yourself reveals a soft, blue glow holding you up at both elbows like a strong pair of arms. The blue glow guides you forward while holding you strongly enough that you don’t think to slow down or turn back. You reach the final board of the bridge and look into Papyrus’ concerned face.

 

“HUMAN!” He screeches, stepping forward to take your hands. “ARE YOU HURT? THE BRIDGE WAS NOT A PUZZLE TO SOLVE, YOU KNOW!”

 

“No, I know,” you say breathlessly. “It was just a stumble, I’m fine.” Behind Papyrus slouches Sans, whose left eyesocket is facing you. Around the familiar white pinprick of light is a beautiful glowing ring that flashes with many shades of blue. When it fades from his eye, so do the guides on your elbows. _Wow…_ you think with delight, _It really_ is _magic. That’s how he does it: Sans is magical._

 

“I MUST SAY, IT FEELS DISHONORABLE TO CAPTURE YOU IN THIS STATE. IT WOULD NOT BE A FAIR FIGHT FOR YOU WOULD UNDOUBTEDLY BE CAPTURED RIGHT AWAY BY MY SUPERIOR JAPERIES. PERHAPS YOU NEED TIME TO RECUPERATE AND FIGHT ANOTHER DAY?” He watches you anxiously, gently grasping your hands in his and you feel your heart melt. Despite his strange ego and his ludicrous obsession with puzzles, this monster obviously has a kind heart and little desire to harm anyone.

 

“Of course!” you reply with complete sincerity. “Just a little rest and something to eat, then I’ll be ready to give you my very best effort!”

 

If he smiled any more widely, the top of his skull would pop off and float away into the clouds. As a bonus, Sans gives you a thumbs up over his brother’s shoulder.

 

“that’s great, bud. i know just where we can go… to…” Sans’ voice trails off and his eyes go black, staring at something behind you. This face is scary enough to re-freeze your blood. Quickly, you turn around and spot the source of his distress: a small child in a striped sweater running full-tilt across the bridge toward you all.

 

xXx

 

“ANOTHER HUMAN?” booms Papyrus in consternation.

 

Sans can hardly believe it, either. How could they be here when you had already proven yourself to be the next human? Were they here to reclaim their place? He starts forward without quite knowing what he plans to do, but…

 

“Frisk!” You beat him to it. You are turning to meet the child at the edge of the bridge with your arms outstretched and Sans feels his magic fizzle away at once. In shock, he watches you kneel and scoop the child into your arms, saying their name over and over. Frisk, for their part, is making a laughing sound over and over again, which startles him even more because as far as he is aware, Frisk is unable to speak. It’s one of the constants about them. The stout skeleton decides to watch… and wait.

 

“Frisk,” you say again in a slightly hoarse voice, setting them down and beginning to deliberately use your hands. When you are both standing, Frisk comes up to your bust. “Why are you here?”

 

Right away, the child begins to sign. Sans has never had a problem understanding Frisk in part because he can sense the intent of their soul, but also because after a few dozen runs, he picked up quite a number of common signs and only kept collecting from there. The way you sign, though, is quite different from both Frisk’s emphatic yet blocky signs and his own strings of barely-connected words. Yours looks like a real language, complete with many shades of nuance, expressive faces, and suggestive body positioning. Watching you puts Sans in mind of a flowing dance so much that he forgets both to listen to what you are saying and to monitor your soul for meaning.

 

“Slow down!” you are saying and signing when Sans checks back in. “Your fingers are getting in the way of each other.” Frisk blows their tangled hair out of their eyes with irritation and begins signing again, much more slowly. Sans’ piercing eyes flit back and forth between Frisk’s hands and your face, which is becoming redder and redder until finally…

 

“Frisk! That was very irresponsible! You shouldn’t have done that!!” You seize the child in a fierce embrace, hot tears spilling down your face into their dark, tangled hair. “You shouldn’t have come after me…”

 

Sans shuffles uncomfortably, unable to tear his gaze away from the scene before him. He has seen you several times now and Frisk, probably hundreds, maybe even thousands. Both of you together, however, is new. What does this all mean?

 

“Um...” You are standing now with Frisk at your side, looking shyly just over Sans’ left shoulder. Your face is still pink with emotion and your eyes glitter with tears. “I’m sorry, Papyrus... Sans. This changes everything… I think,” you look at Frisk quickly, who nods and puts their head on your shoulder. “I think we should tell you both the whole story. Can we go someplace safe?”

 

“of course. let’s go talk.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me: Nice! Two chapters in a week! I can take a break now, right?  
> Brain: ...No.  
> Me: *lip wibbling* But… I’ve done so much work…  
> Brain: MORE.  
> Me: I have to go to work in the morning…  
> Brain: Did I stutter? WRITE. MORE.  
> Me: *wails* I don’t know what happens next!  
> Brain: YOU’D BETTER FIGURE IT OUT, PRINCESS!


	5. Drunken Pun Master

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You share all kinds of backstory with your new skeleton friends. Then you go to a bar and drink punnily.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your support thusfar. It really encourages me to keep writing. ^_^ Your reward is exposition followed by silliness.
> 
> Recommended listening for this chapter: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BkNWNcfzmas

Through the charming town of Snowdin is the house of the skeleton brothers. Though it is two stories, the house is relatively small: two bedrooms, one bathroom, one living room and a kitchen that is almost big enough for one person to turn around without banging their elbows. After ushering you both inside, they pulled out a beaten up card table and commandeered every chair in the house for you all to sit together, regardless of whether the chair fits under the table or not. No two dishes seem to match, either, you notice, receiving a chipped mug with yellow sunflowers on it steaming full of strong tea. Frisk is sipping from a novelty red solo cup with a handle, while Sans uses a plain blue mug, and Papyrus has a large white mug with a cartoon dog barking ‘Seize the day!’. It’s an atmosphere that feels very familiar and cozy.

 

You look at the tea in your cup for a long time, trying to figure out how to start. Occasionally Frisk leaves their wobbly stool to explore the house in only the way a 6 year old thinks to do: open every cabinet, take everything out, rearrange it all, and put it back. They seem to have made themselves right at home almost immediately. Sans is leaning back in a rolling office chair, bony feet propped up on the arm of the couch.

 

“I THINK YOU WILL FIND THE TEA MUCH TO YOUR LIKING,” screeches Papyrus excitedly. “IT IS UNDYNE’S FAVORITE!! SHE HAS THE BEST TASTE OF ANYONE IN THE ENTIRE GUARD!”

 

“inside voice, paps.” You swear Sans hasn’t touched his tea yet, but there seems to be less in the mug than before.

 

“RIGHT! Right, sorry. WHAT is going on?” It’s funny that Paps’ inside voice is not too much softer than his normal voice, but it’s enough to keep your ears from ringing.

 

“I think I can explain what’s going on to your satisfaction, oh great Papyrus,” you answer, grinning, but then fall back into your reverie. When you begin speaking, it is more to your tea than any one person at the table. “I am the oldest child of six and Frisk is my youngest sibling.” This pronouncement causes a shift in the room.

 

“WOWIE, REALLY!?” says Papyrus excitedly, back at full volume. Sans switches which foot is on top of the couch's’ arm and regards you with raised bonebrows.

 

“Haha, yeah. I’ve got two younger sisters, the twins, and Frisk. I’m used to cleaning up, watching after, giving homework help, and chasing after all my siblings to keep them out of trouble. It was always tight in our house with no space and not much money, but we always made it work, as a family.” You smile, thinking about family game nights and watching movies together.

 

“All our trouble started when… Mom died. She got a blood clot while in labor… with Frisk. It’s really no one’s fault,” you rush on too quickly, feeling afraid of judgement. “Frisk knows that accidents happen sometimes, we’ve talked about it.” Frisk was watching your mouth and nods, turning away to inspect several containers of spaghetti in the fridge one by one. “Well… the doctors said it backed up into her bloodstream and shut down her entire system; it took less than an hour. One moment she was there, happy and playing with the baby and the next… she was gone.”

 

From the corner of your eye, Papyrus and Sans exchange a glance, then return their attention to you.

 

“It was hard for us all, but life goes on and we made do with one parent, one paycheck, and a subsidized apartment. I made it to junior year on track to graduate when... when Dad had an accident at work.” Your eyes start to sting and you stubbornly refuse to scrub them with the back of your hand. Deliberately, you take a swig of tea to create time to collect yourself. It is a delicate, sweet tea, but there’s a tang of bitterness on the back end that gives it a rich, complex flavor. You’re glad you asked Papyrus not to add sugar. It helps a little.

 

“Dad lost most of his leg in the accident, but without anyone else to help pay for it, we couldn’t afford any functional kind of prosthetic or physical therapy, so he went on disability indefinitely. I dropped out of school and got a shitty part time job (the best they would give to someone young and inexperienced like me) and we also got on welfare and food stamps. I made sure that none of my brothers and sisters had to take any more of the burden than necessary because… well, because they’re so much younger than me. I didn’t think it was fair for them to take on the responsibilities of adults when they needed to finish school and learn how to grow up. I even still think we would have been fine: my next oldest sister, Julie, was in high school and while we learned that Frisk was mostly deaf and needed special help, we were all getting along great with sign language… and… and then I lost my job.” The tears are hovering at the corners of your vision again, but if you stop talking now, you know you aren’t going to make it; it’s just too hard to start over again. Quietly, Frisk’s little hand lays gently on top of yours. You feel determined to finish.

 

“I l-lost my job the same week D-dad woke up coughing b-blood. The doctor said he had stage 4 lung cancer and n-none of us ever noticed. I t-think he was hiding it from us so we wouldn’t worry. H-he always did stupid stuff like that. He only made it another couple of months. I was 17. I couldn’t adopt my siblings without any way to support us, so they went to foster care. I tried like hell to get another job, but… when I turned 18, I got dropped from a lot of services and… unemployment helped for a while, but it doesn’t last forever… so I lost the apartment. Shelters were so full, there was no place for me.” Now the tears are coming like a wave and you feel flooded with shame that you can’t stop them. “The reason I went to Mt. Ebott is that there was n-nowhere else for me to g-g-go…” and you dissolve into sobs, completely unable to say another word. In your mind, you see your father lying in the ER, and you are bringing in your siblings to say goodbye. You are watching your family from behind bulletproof glass, while they do homework together in a bleak, grey foster care facility. Your boss hands you a pink slip, his smug son smirking behind him. You are handing over the keys to the tiny, grubby apartment that had been your family’s home for almost 6 years.

 

A gloved hand settles hesitantly on one of your shoulders while another heavy, bare-bones hand touches the other. Frisk climbs up into your lap and throws their hands around your neck, letting you embrace them and sob wretchedly into their hair. In an amazing moment of sensitivity and tact, the skeleton brothers seem to understand that nothing needs to be said and let you cry yourself out for several long minutes. Their warm hands remain on your shoulders when you find the courage to finish.

 

“So that’s why I have to go back to the surface. I’m grateful for all the help we’ve had, I really am, but foster care is hard for teenagers and I need to keep my family together and safe… as much as possible.” You look up and give a watery smile to the table in general. “It’s especially hard because I want to be really angry, but there’s no one person or thing that happened that caused all of our problems. It’s _no one’s fault_ that Mom died. Dad didn’t get hit by machinery _on purpose_ . And I? Well… people lose jobs… _it happens_ . It was just one bad break after another, but even when I tell myself that, it just feels. so. _Unfair_.” The word spits from your lips in a bitter strike at the universe. Almost immediately you feel guilty for your anger in front of these monsters who have been so kind to you.

 

Sans drains his teacup and sets it firmly on the card table, which wobbles. “well, i think i speak for paps and myself when i say that you can crash with us for as long as you need.”

 

“YES! IN FACT, I, THE GREAT PAPYRUS, INSIST THAT YOU LIVE WITH US AND LET ME COOK YOU THE BEST SPAGHETTI IN THE ENTIRE UNDERGROUND!”

 

You blink at them, confused. “Oh, guys… we couldn’t possibly… The surface…”

 

“isn’t going anywhere,” he finished dismissively. “you were already going to Mt. Ebott for a reprieve, right?”

 

“Something like that,” you mumble self-consciously.

 

“then take a real vacation,” he says, spreading his bony fingers to indicate the house. “stay with us for a little while, and then we’ll help you on your way.”

 

Frisk’s eyes are locked on your face. You watch their fingers twitch with anticipation, then bite your lip and look back at Sans. “Why would you open your home to us? You hardly even know us; we’re just some humans that stumbled into town.”

 

Sans looks away and shrugs. “eh, i have a good sense about people. i feel it in my _bones_.”

 

“SANS, THIS IS SERIOUS!” bellows Papyrus, but it’s too late. Frisk is already laughing, a loud, unrestrained sound that bounces off the walls and fills the house with childish glee. You giggle with relief.

 

The older skeleton brother looks pleased with himself, then glances at a crooked clock on the wall. “hey, it’s almost bedtime for a certain babybones….”

 

“STOP CALLING ME THAT, I’M A GROWNBONES!!!”

 

“...so maybe we should put the squirt in bed at the same time and then you and i go down to grillby’s for a drink. i think you could seriously use one right about now.”

 

That sounds amazing, but you look to Frisk right away. “How does that sound?” you say while signing. “Would you feel safe here with Papyrus while Sans and I go just a little bit down the street?”

 

Frisk makes an theatrical show of thinking it over, then crosses their arms and nods firmly with a big smile.

 

“You really are a great kid.” Playfully, you swat their arm. “Let’s set you up on the couch, eh?”

 

xXx

 

Frisk, after washing their face and putting on an enormous old shirt of Sans’ that made them look like a tent, insisted on participating in Papyrus’ bedtime story. Sans, you notice, thoughtfully tilted the book towards your youngest family member so they could follow along and sign for Papyrus. Papyrus, for his part, was ecstatic to share his bedtime story with the littlest human and his long, bony fingers clumsily made the signs along with his new best friend. At the end, Frisk refused to go down to the couch, pointing firmly at the racecar bed. You give in with amused grace.

 

“Goodnight, Frisk, Papyrus.”

 

“GOODNIGHT, HUMAN FRIEND!”

 

Frisk’s fingers fly through the air and then tip questioningly at you.

 

“Oh! Yeah, I think so, if you want.” You settle on the edge of the bed and let Frisk lean their face on your chest while you take a deep breath...

 

_Lead, kindly light_

_Amidst the encircling gloom_

_Lead Thou me on_

_The night is dark and I am far from home…_

 

Sans is walking down the hallway to get you a coat to go to Grillby’s when he hears your voice float through the air and the brown hoodie slips through his fingers. Weakly, he leans on the wall, hand over his beating soul, listening. Each word is pronounced carefully by you, following the curve of the melody, but what has brought a lump to his throat is how it sounds like you blissfully love every moment, every note.

 

_Keep Thou my feet_

_I do not ask to see the distant scene_

_One step enough for me…_

 

Though he tries, Sans honestly can’t remember the last time he heard anyone in the underground sing like that. Mettaton sings in some of his shows, but it doesn’t have the same raw emotion that your prayer for safety does. His skull bumps back against the wall softly, full of your words. It tickles something in the back of his mind, something distant and foggy, but he can’t quite make it out. Something he should remember...

 

_So long Thy power hath blest me,_

_Sure it still will lead me on._

_O'er moor and fen, o'er crag and torrent,_

_Till the night is gone_

_Lead me home._

 

“WOW. I FEEL REALLY READY TO SLEEP AFTER THAT!”

 

“Shhh, Paps. Look at Frisk.”

 

“Oh, sorry.”

 

Embarrassingly, there is blue moisture on Sans’ cheekbones, which he furiously scrubs away while you say goodnight to Papyrus. He manages to pick up the spare coat just in time for you to emerge and silently close the door behind you. You look tired, but your smile is warm. “I think I might need all the drinks.”

 

“we can fix that. here,” he says quickly, holding out the brown hoodie.

 

“Thanks! I didn’t exactly plan for snowy weather. It’s, like, late spring on the surface.” Through his side eye, Sans watches you pull it on and zip up until right below your bust, when it stops. His eye lights grow brighter when you suck in a breath and hike up your breasts to force the zipper over.  _we'll be breast friends in no time... haha... oh jeez, don't say that out loud you numb skull…_ Sans is fighting the dirty, dirty images of his hands undoing the work of getting you into his jacket and first-hand finding out all the differences between little monsters and little humans. _get it together, serif. you just watched this human have a breakdown at your kitchen table._ But it doesn’t really matter; his mind has taken off without him.

 

When you face him again, smiling cheekily, his eyes are safely locked on a corner that faces away from you, though his cheekbones are faintly blue and he hopes you don’t notice. "what was that song?" he asks quickly, possibly wanting to distract you.

 

"Oh, that was our mother's favorite. I like to sing it to everyone so they can feel... close to her." You stuff your hands into the warm, fuzzy pockets.

 

"it's... really beautiful."

 

"Thanks."

 

"r-ready to go to the hottest place in town?" His boney hand scratches the back of his head, hoping to subtly wipe away the sweat beginning to accumulate there.

 

You smile back, bouncing down the stairs. "Yes! Oh wait, what kind of money do you use down here?”

 

Sans follows, saying nonchalantly, "we use gold down here mostly, but don't worry 'bout it, pal. i'll just have them put it on my tab." Punctuating his words with a wink, he grasps the doorknob as he holds out his other hand to you. "c'mon, i know a great short cut."

 

"There's a shortcut for one block away?" you say with a raised eyebrow, looking between his face and his outstretched hand. "But it's such an _ice_ night outside.”

 

"haha! it's _snow_ problem, bud. now, i don't want you gettin' lost out there so if you don’t mind..." He opens his hand to you again, giving you a roguish grin. Gingerly, you put your hand in his and he closes his warm, rough fingers over yours. Then, he opens the door and says conspiratorially over his shoulder, "you might want to close your eyes for this part."

 

You know damn well from experience that nothing good ever happens after anyone says ‘close your eyes for this part,’ so you squeeze his hand and follow while sneaking a peek through one eye. Sans’ left eye begins to smolder bright blue from a half lidded socket, and the very air around you crackles like electricity. Instantly, you are plunged into a suffocating black miasma that engulfs your senses. You can’t hear, you can’t breathe, you can’t feel anything except Sans’ hand in yours and a dizzying, nauseating vertigo. Just as you feel like you will spin out into terrifying space, the pressure evaporates and Sans is leading you into a cheerily lit building. The enticing scent of greasy comfort food, crackling wood fire, and dark wood polish wash over you. A tacky tune floats tinnily from the broken-down jukebox in the corner. It’s like a small-town bar, but you’re less afraid of contracting tetanus.

 

To steady yourself after that unusual journey, you reach out for whatever is closest; in this case, the cracked leather back of a booth. " _Woof_..." you breathe, staring at the back of Sans' skull in awe. He is slouching towards the bar, waving at someone he knows.

 

"Arf!" responds an entire table of fluffy white dogs, tails wagging and now ALL staring at you. The cards of their game spill across the tabletop. At the same time, a chorus of voices cheer at Sans’ arrival. Many monsters call out friendly greetings.

 

Sans for his part takes this in stride. "well i'll be _doggone_ , everyone is here. it'll be a _bone_ -ified party by the end of the night!" He shrugs as the room titters with laughter and turns back to you. The pinpoints of light rove over your face with an unreadable expression. "you enjoying the _fur_ niture, there, pal?"

 

"Haha... just making sure it's… um… _purr_ minant?" You laugh a bit weakly, feeling yourself color under his intense stare. _That was a bad one._ "Hoppin' place. You’re really popular here." You wave at a monster that looks like they’re melting. They burble back in response.

 

"nah, i don't really have the _guts_ for that sorta stuff." He come back to you and rests a solid hand on the small of your back. You can feel Sans’ laughter rumble in his chest. "there's someone i'd like you to meet. he can be a _hothead_ , but he makes some of the best food around, outside of papyrus' cookin', of course."

 

It's an effort, but you manage not to scrunch up your nose at the thought of Papyrus' spaghetti cooking being considered any kind of culinary standard after what was left on the table in the forest. At Sans’ guidance, you choose a stool at the corner of the bar and wait for him to pull up beside you when you see all the shadows in the bar move. It’s disorienting, but you can’t see any swinging lights or cause for the phenomenon at all until you look behind the bar to find out what monster liquor looks like... and then you see him: a pillar of brilliant orange flames shaped like a man wearing a tasteful button down shirt and vest combo. The shirt is rolled up to the elbow to show off lean, burning arms polishing a clean mug. You hope your face is not displaying tasteless shock especially when you notice the elegant pince-nez balanced on... nothing. It's nothing. Just fire. Fire works here.

 

"what's up? see something you like?" Sans leans on the bar with his jaw resting in the palm of his hand; observing you and grinning widely enough to split his skull. When he sees your eyes wide as saucers, his smile hitches up from regular to smug as hell.

 

Now it is your face that is on fire. You would not be surprised if your hair was now licking the ceiling like the tall bartender's. "No! No," you yelp out way too fast, words tumbling out faster than your tongue can make them, "I'm just really interested in your hot friend and his amazing cooking skills! Do you have any recommendations? I'm not sure I've heard of any of these drinks; what is in a fireball shot exactly?"

 

A fissure of white breaks the bartender's fiery face as he chuckles; a light, breathy laugh. His fingers flick through the air, signing something quickly to Sans. It’s not the same kind of sign language you use with Frisk, but it’s similar and you can almost follow along. Sans is happy to translate.

 

"i think grillbz has taken a real _shine_ to you. he says maybe you should start out with some grub first. since he's only got burgs and fries, which one _sparks_ your interest?"

 

Despite yourself, you laugh. A full-throated laugh so loud that you have to lean your head on the counter to control yourself. "Sparks!" you wheeze, smiling at Sans through your arms. "I haven't had french fries in forever. Some of those would be just… _incendiary_."

 

Sans nudges your elbow with his. "fries would really hit the spot. throw some extra on the grill for me, too, along with the usual, grillbz."

 

If he had visible eyes, the fire monster would be rolling them skyward. He shakes his head and turns to work on your order. Right away, Sans’ attention returns to you, but he knows that whatever questions he has need to come up in their own time. Anything else would be overwhelming and besides, your lovely singing voice is still ringing in his skull making it hard to focus on important things. Until the fries arrive, he distracts you with stories about the other patrons, funny jokes he thought of at the sentry station, and general trivia about life in the underground. You laugh and joke like nothing is on your mind, but he sees how your eyes lose focus in between stories. The fries are delivered by a burning tongue of magical flame that lights up your face prettily, so he finally clears his throat and addresses the elephant monster in the room. "so that was some heavy stuff you said back at the house. are you doin' okay?"

 

You take a moment to munch on a glorious, salty fried potato before answering with a laugh that’s much lighter than you feel. “Normally you need to be a level 3 friend to unlock the tragic backstory." You play with a knot under the varnish of the bar for a moment and say slowly. "It sounds kind of crazy when I say it all, but... y'know, that's how it happened. It sucks, but I'll be okay. Right now, I just need to focus forward and make a plan."

 

“that’s not a bad attitude.” A ketchup bottle has appeared in Sans’ bony hand. He gives it a hearty shake and a landslide of red covers his fries.

 

“Hey now, I didn’t think we were getting _sauced_ this early,” you say, hiding your grotesquely full mouth with your hand.

 

“i guess you’d better _ketchup_.”

 

You squint at him. “Hmm… nope. Too easy. Try again.” You suddenly have the attention of the people around you. Their conversations have hushed and eyes are turning towards you both.

 

Sans lays a hand on his chest with mock-offense. “are you challenging my _punficiency?_ you realize this means a _compuntition_.” Behind you, some monsters gasp. Your inner drama-nerd is stirring.

 

“Is there a prize for being the best punster?” You say nonchalantly, looking at Sans through a shady side-eye. “A _champunship_ title, perhaps?”

 

“how about a bet?” he says with twinkling eyes. “loser sleeps on the couch.”

 

"Deal!"

 

With a challenge like that, the entire bar erupts with cheers and the betting starts right away; the fish monster from the bar calls out odds and takes little papers with numbers on them. When a scoreboard-cum-chalkboard appears behind the dogs’ forgotten poker game, you get the sense that this isn’t the first pun battle to break out at Grillby’s and you’ve been had. Sans only sips ketchup and don’t bother to hide his shit-eating grin as Grillby brings you your drinks.

 

‘The usual’ turns out to be a double scotch on the rocks which Grillby sets down deftly in front of the skeleton, then he turns to you, holding out a tall glass filled with a dark brown drink. Before you can reach out to take it, the monster breathes a tongue of white-hot flame across the surface causing the liquid to sparkle and crack like fireworks. It bubbles dynamically for several seconds then becomes the light yellow of a pilsner with a dark red layer at the bottom of the glass.

 

“Oh wow! That’s the fireball?” Grillby nods, resettling his pince-nez in a satisfied way. You take a sip and taste a peppery, spicy liquor that reminds you of a rum you once had. At the very back end, there is a hint of cherry to smooth out the pepper. “It’s like you,” you say with wide, innocent eyes. “It’s _bark_ is worse than it’s _bite_.”

 

The patrons throw up their hands and cheer. A chalk tally is drawn on your side of the board. Grillby seems unaffected by your wit, then turns to Sans and makes a quick sign. The skeleton laughs out loud and signs back. You’re not sure you understand, but it looked like ‘ _she’ll fit right in’_  followed by _'that's what i'm hoping'_.Not sure whether to let on that you’re reading their hands, you turn to the scoreboard, ready to compete.

 

The drinking and the punning last long into the night. Particularly good exchanges are rewarded with a round of shots and hearty groans; bad ones are met with boos and jokingly thrown crumples of paper. The board is filling up so fast that scorekeepers are drawing talleys every which direction. Late in the evening, Sans executed an excellent triple pun on the sense of smell which you countered with a pun on rods and cones in the eyeball. This fell flat as no one had any idea how human eyes work and you declined to explain, even though Sans gave you a goofy grin like he understood. Arbitrarily, the fish monsters calls an end to bets and the town chants for a final count.

 

With a blush that has nothing to do with Sans' eyes on you, (no sirree, not for a second!) you quickly shoot a double of tropical-flavored vodka. The pile of glasses in front of you is impressive, but it’s nothing like the mountain in front of him. Did he actually drink an entire bar’s worth of beer or did he somehow think that the competition was about liquor instead of word-play humor? And that rat bastard, it looks like he isn’t even a little affected by it all! Look at him sitting there, alternating between whiskey and ketchup, with his focused eyes and his non-swaying posture… Hey, why is the floor on the wall?

 

“It’s a tie!”

 

You whip around way too fast and nearly lose your balance on the stool. At the last second you are righted and you _just_ catch a sparkle of blue from Sans’ eye while customers argue about who should win money. It’s now that you realize exactly how much you’ve had to drink because he’s still watching you struggle to sit up straight and you must cling to the bar. When you're steady, you reach out across the space that separates you with an open hand and say, “I guess this contest went _stale, mate_.”

 

It takes everyone a moment to figure out what you just said but when they do, a wave of appreciative roars and applause fill the room. You smile shakily and wait until everyone calms down to hear his answer. Sans clearly enjoys having the complete attention of the room. He slowly sets down the ketchup and picks up his tumbler with one last swallow of scotch in it. The dark amber liquid is swirling with melted ice making interesting waves in the glass. He tips it up through his teeth, licking away the last drops with a long, glowing blue tongue.

 

 _That’s new_ . You chew on your lip and feel a brief thrill of heat in your thighs, thinking about what else that tongue could lick… _NO! No, that’s the last three shots of booze talking, don’t go down this road!_ You determinedly keep your hand out, even though it’s starting to shake.

 

Sans looks at your hand and then at you, blue eye still glowing. He sighs deeply and then shakes your hand. “i’ve got nothing.”

 

The explosion in the bar probably woke up the whole town. Every monster in the bar is clapping you on the back and shoulder while Sans hops off his stool to talk to the patrons that lost gold. All of the happy, yelling faces swim together, then _someone_ helps you off the stool and out into the crowd of celebrating, definitely somewhat drunken monsters. You feel elated and dizzy and tired and wobbly all at once. Someone tall and furry presses an entire fist of gold into your hands and points you at the door where Sans is waiting with his hand outstretched. Clumsily, you stuff the gold into the pockets of your hoodie and grab Sans’ hand before you fall over. He pulls you close and slips his arm around your waist to hold you up.

  
“let’s go, babe.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DC: 4


	6. Holding Hands in the Dark (!)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is for mature audiences. If you require an adult to hold your hand for this, please find one now. If you require an adult to hold more than just your hand, well, now’s a good time for that, too. ;D Thank you.

Another trip through the suffocating darkness (now made more disorienting by your friend, alcohol) finds you back in a silent skeleton house. You cling to Sans with both arms after discovering that you can’t be trusted to stand all by yourself on the step of Grillby’s and the bloody cheek that was your teacher is a stinging reminder of pride before a fall. Sans is still chuckling softly at your ungracious tumble while he guides you to the bathroom to help you clean up.

 

“I swear, I’m not usually that klutzy!” you say, wincing at your slurred words, then wincing again because of your cheek. “I used to take ballet, you know… I was a graceful swan...”

 

“i bet you were, pal,” says Sans (without a hint of condescension) picking you up and setting you on the bathroom counter. “you really  _ cut the rug _ earlier.”

 

It’s a good thing he needs to look under the counter for alcohol and swabs because your mouth is tactlessly hanging open. You may be small, but you’re no delicate feather in the weight department and this stout skeleton didn’t even have to bend his knees to scoop your ass up and deposit you at what amounted to stomach level.  _ How strong is this guy? _ you think, and not for the first time you realize. Your heart is beating an insistent rhythm in your ears, but you hastily rearrange your face into something decent before he surfaces holding a beaten up bottle and some ear cleaners. 

 

“Why do you have those? Do you clean your skull holes?” are questions you would not have asked three hours and three levels of sobriety ago, but the words spill out of your mouth in an awkward attempt to clear your unladylike thoughts.

 

Thankfully, he chuckles at your eager questions and answers while dipping the swabs in alcohol. “no, it’s been  _ ears _ since i needed to. a lot of stuff end up down here, and not always exactly what you need, so you make do with what shows up. c’mere, bud, this might sting...”

 

“Ouch!” you hiss as the first swab touches your cheek leaving, as promised, a stinging trail behind.

 

“you can squeeze my shoulder if I’m being a  _ pain _ ,” he says, poorly hiding a grin.

 

Tentatively, you lay one hand on the shoulder of his hoodie, but grip strongly at the next brush of astringent. Like his ribs and hands, you can tell that his bones are thicker and more solid than yours which makes you start to wonder about the  _ other _ bones you can’t see and you immediately ask the next question that comes to mind before the alcohol leads you further down that path. “So, at the bar… you  _ did _ have more puns left, right? Why did you let me win?”

 

Sans’ face flushes faintly blue and he chuckles. “heh heh, i guess i just thought you’d be more comfortable in a bed tonight to keep you from  _ couch surfing _ away on a wave of booze. are you mad at me?” His eyes flick quickly to your face before he caps the rubbing alcohol and leans to put it away.

 

“Psh, no. I think it’s sweet.” You smile down and try not to think about his head being awfully close to your tightly closed knees. “Thank you,” you say sincerely, hoping he isn’t noticing your weird behavior, but then also kind of hoping that he is… and likes it...

 

Sans hesitates when he meets your intense gaze and swallows. Surely you feel the heat between you both, too? It might be the irresponsible amount of scotch he’s had this evening, but he’s having a hard time remembering the last time someone was this close to him; so close he could reach out and... After a bit of struggle, he decides to let the moment pass like a gentleman and stands to help you off the counter with two hands platonically on your waist. “...you’re welcome. it’s no  _ pas-de-deux, madame _ .” 

 

“ _ Monsieur _ Magic Man!,” you say in a kitschy French accent, using his shoulders as a balance to go briefly  _ en pointe _ , turn once semi-gracefully in his hands, and lean into a wobbly arabesque, which causes your foot to kick open the shower curtain, but also for the top half of you to press into the top half of him. “Am I to understand that you are familiar with  _ le ballet _ ?”

 

“if by ‘familiar’ you mean ‘i’ve now used all my dance vocabulary at once,’ then yes,  _ mon cherie _ . yes i am.” Sans’ eyes have become brighter and his cheeks, bluer. His toebones crack as he performs a hilariously terrible imitation of you that ends with his foot kicking the door, which has you both dissolving into giggles. With hurried motions to  _ shush _ each other, you both badly tango away down the hall to his bedroom.

 

“uh… wait here a moment,” the skeleton says quickly before you step in his room. “don’t come in yet.”

 

You agree and lean against the railing that overlooks the living room. It strikes you suddenly that there are no lamps anywhere in the house. You look up and see nothing, there’s nothing on side tables or beside the couch. It’s when you’re leaning over on tiptoe to see whether you can see a ceiling lamp or something in the kitchen that the door opens behind you, of course. Deciding to capitalize on this sitcom moment, you slowly lower yourself onto your heels and turn to face him with your arms draped suggestively across the railing. “Are you ready now?” you say slowly, managing not to slur.  _ Super casual. Nailed it. _

 

Sans’ skull is covered with sweat and his eye flashes blue, nearly the only light in the dark house. “y-yeah. c-come in,” he says softly. You start to, but discover that even though Sans moved to one side, he didn’t move very far, so you have to brush against him to get into the bedroom. You decide to do so slowly for two reasons; one, because it’s extremely dark in his room, especially for your terrible human eyesight and two, because his eyes are locked on you and he is shaking slightly. You think an insincere  _ mea culpa _ for the mischief you long to perform.

 

When your eyes adjust to the lack of light, you look around the small room and giggle to yourself. A pile of clothes and socks have hastily been shoved under a desk and a mountain of trash overwhelms a sad wire trashcan. A wrinkled sheet and cover clothe a mattress in the corner with a lumpy pillow thrown at the head. You nearly trip over a large black treadmill in the middle of the room, but Sans’ hands are on you at once, helping you to stand. 

 

“Sorry, I guess monsters have way better night vision,” you whisper, listening to your nervous breathing in the quiet dark.

 

“why sorry? we have plenty of bats in the underground, so you’re in good company,” he jokes in a similarly quiet voice. He grins broadly while you giggle, but his hands are still touching your arms, and he is holding you closer than is probably decent. You can feel each rise and fall of his ribs against you and hope his thoughts are going the same direction as yours because you’re not sure you can disembark from your train of thought anymore.

 

“Now you’re just being mean,” you complain teasingly, pouting up through your eyelashes at him. “At least help me to the bed so I don’t trip and kill myself on something else.” Even with a prompt like that, you stand together for almost a full minute looking searchingly into each other’s eyes and feeling unwilling to be the first to move away. Sans would never admit it out loud, but he is realizing exactly how much the alcohol is affecting him. Would he normally be considering leaning through the dark to kiss you without it? At the last second before his head bends toward you, he decides that the momentary feel of your lips might not be worth you and Frisk disappearing in the night only to be Reset in a day or two having forgotten this evening. He closes his eyes briefly to shake the thought and rallies quickly.

 

“that would be a  _ dying _ shame.”

 

“ _ Sans! _ ”

 

“what? i’m saying i  _ don’t _ want you to  _ kick the bucket _ .”

 

“I’m gonna kick your bucket in a second…!”

 

The moment is broken. Grumbling good-naturedly about overly-helpful skeletons, you pick your way around the treadmill and you both flop clumsily on the bed, laughing softly to keep from waking your siblings down the hall (if your shenanigans haven’t woken them already). The room is spinning a little and you’re holding Sans’ warm hand to counteract the feeling of flying away.

 

“I had fun tonight,” you say, squeezing his hand.

 

He grins. “grillbz runs a good place; i didn’t think you’d find it  _ pub-par. _ ”

 

You take a breath, rise on your elbow, and look at him with a quirked eyebrow. You’re feeling bold and say, “Yes, Grillby’s was fun, but I meant I had a good time  _ with you _ .”

 

The look of surprise on his face should be bottled and made into an exceptionally potent intoxicant. “...oh! i… uh… think… had fun…. me, too.” His brain seems to have forgotten how to use words and it tickles you so much that you laugh, slip and fall across him to find yourself only inches from his face. You bite your lip, still laughing a little.

 

A soft, restrained noise leaves the skeleton’s mouth and you see his magic blue eye flare like before. Soon, you feel a warm pressure against your hip and you realize that you’ve been reading the signs correctly all evening, for which you give yourself 1 point. You also realize exactly how much the man in front of you is controlling himself right now. By the look on his face and the hesitant way he’s holding you, you could turn over right now without another word and he would probably only make sure to close the door on his way out.  _ Amazing how knowing a few shitty guys really makes you appreciate a decent one, huh? _ you think, summoning up the courage to lean over and...

 

“can i kiss you?”

 

Now it is your turn for a shocked expression. Not by the idea of kissing him, lord knows you were just about to, but that he would  _ ask _ you first. In your experience, a man just went for it and only backed off if she ran screaming into the night… usually.

 

Sans’ skull has paled at your silence, “that is, uh… only if you want… no pressure!”

 

You reach up and let your fingertips play across his jaw. “Yes.  _ Please. _ ”

 

Hardly daring to breathe, you watch Sans rise to meet you, eyes locked on his teeth and frantically wondering if you’ve just bitten off more than you can chew. At the last second, your eyes flutter closed and there is soft, warm pressure on your lips that leaves a tingling sensation when he pulls away. You don’t let him back off too far, pulling him back to you with your hand on his jaw and sinking into the next kiss.

 

One of Sans’ arms wraps around you to pull you close and you are interested to find that his whole body feels solid and strong. Your hands leave his face to explore the thick ribs you are only familiar with by sight through a t-shirt and enjoy their ridges and valleys. A deep, bone rattling moan vibrates through your joined mouths, which only encourages you to touch him more. You explore his shoulders, expecting to find a delicate clavicle and a plate-like scapula and you  _ sort of _ do. His clavicle is as thick as your wrist and much longer than you were expecting so the adjective ‘delicate’ might not apply. His scapula also is bigger and thicker, reaching a quarter of the way down his back. Sans groans deeply when your fingertips wander up the back of his shirt to trace the edges.

 

Suddenly, the world shifts as he rolls on top of you and you look up at Sans’ focused, needy expression. He mimics how you touched him, bony phalanges trailing across your ribs, but stops quickly when you burst out laughing and flail your hands.

 

“No, no! I’m ticklish!” You hold your ribs and let your breathing return to normal.

 

“am i hurting you?” asks Sans with a concerned wrinkle between his bone brows.

 

After a last breathy laugh, you shake your head. “You might say I’m a little…  _ sans-itive _ .” His chuckle is both appreciative and relieved. “It’s just light touching that tickles,” you explain. “You can totally touch me there, but it has to be stronger.” You take his hand and place it back on your ribs, guiding him to a better way of exploring your body, which he takes to right away. Soon, he is also stroking your sides, hips and thighs in long, firm caresses, making you hum in a pleased way. By itself, your body arches into his hands, looking for more.

 

“what else do you like?” whispers Sans in a low, husky voice that sends a prickle of arousal through your skin. “show me what else to do to you.”

 

Emboldened by the dark, you guide his hand under your blouse and up your front. With fascination, he cups each of your breasts. One hand barely contains each, and he explores your soft texture with circular motions of fingers and thumbs. Without a bra to contain their ebullience, the budding tips have been chafed by your blouse all day and his smooth bones are a pleasing contrast. Your soft moans are punctuated by gasps every time his thumb bounces across a nipple or lightly pinches, just because he wants to see the difference in your reaction.

 

With both hands, he sweeps up your shirt and leans down to kiss you. A flash of blue in his eye conjures up his glowing blue tongue and he goes to work with a good will, swiping it against your lower lip and swiftly gaining access to your open mouth. It’s soft and flexible like a human tongue, but not wet or stippled with tastebuds, so it’s an entirely new and exciting experience, one that causes you to cling to his back so that your fingers find grooves in his vertebrae. He nibbles your neck and collarbone with thick, blunt teeth and follows it with a slow, sensual swipe of his magical tongue. You are gripping his sides with your knees and trying to control yourself, but it’s becoming more and more difficult with each lusty nip.

 

When his mouth reaches your breasts and he swirls his tongue around the points that made you gasp before, you are just sure you have lost your mind. You whimper louder and louder until you have to press your hands to your mouth to preserve what little dignity you have left. Everything is tingling, your lips, your skin, your tits, and now most importantly, your clit. Almost like he heard the thought in your mind, Sans resettles himself lower and you discover that his thick femur is now directly between your legs. Every time his teeth graze your sensitive skin, your hips rise and teasingly rub your heated core against him. He suckles and nibbles your breasts eagerly for several moments, leaving you in a moaning disheveled pile of yet-unsatisfied trembling, but then slowly stops and pulls back to observe.

 

Sans’ blue eye watches your face curiously from your chest. Then, he seems to notice where the junction of your legs is located and what it’s doing. He tilts his head and listens experimentally to the erotic sounds you make when he rolls a nipple between his teeth while you grind your pelvis into his leg and clearly puts two and two together. 

 

One bony hand grasps the hem of your canvas skirt while the other holds him up so he can watch your face. Seeing only anticipation, he pulls it up to your knees and slides his fingers along the inside of your leg to the place where they meet. Your wide eyes and red-bitten lip encourage him to explore your slick folds and discover the landscape. It’s fascinating how the different places he touches make you gasp and whimper, or giggle and sigh, but he knows he’s struck gold when your eyes unfocus and you softly cry out while your back arches in that way he’s coming to love.

 

“Ah~!”

 

Right away you know something is wrong. Your first temptation is to snap your legs shut and pull away, your heart leaping in your throat from nerves. You don’t exactly, but your body tenses up after that first erotic sound, like you’ve suddenly realized where you are. Sans immediately freezes and checks in.

 

“are you ok?”

 

You can hardly breathe. Your fingers clutch the sheets and you can only stare at him, mouth working fruitlessly to come up with a response for your unexpected reaction.

 

“i can stop, we can take a break. whatever you need. i don’t want to give you a bad time.” He speaks soothingly and his hand is out from under your skirt. It sits on your knee, drawing comforting circles with a thumb. This calms you down considerably.

 

“Just… just a moment,” you whisper. “It’s been a long time for me.”

 

Sans grins, sticking out his blue tongue farther than seems natural. “i didn’t know you were looking for a  _ long _ time…”

 

“Sans…” you groan, laughter welling up inside.

 

“maybe you should go get my brother. i’m more of a  _ short time  _ if you know what i mean…”

 

“ _ Sans _ !”

 

“although if you were interested in  _ long division _ we could arrange something…”

 

Giggling, you sit up and throw your arms around his shoulders, the tension vanishing before his goofiness. You plant a solid, longing kiss right on his mouth to stop the horrifying mathematical puns, then immediately feel obligated to get in the last word. “I was always better at geometry,” you purr. “Let’s make some new shapes.”

 

With a delighted grin, his hand is back up your skirt at once. You are now closer because in your eagerness to kiss him, you’ve shifted yourself onto his lap, knees spread wide on either side of his pelvis. His thumb is making circles around the apex of your pleasure and you just notice that the blue glow in his track shorts has made a reappearance. Acting on your hunch, you hook a finger in the elastic waistband and pull down to reveal a glowing blue phallus to match the tongue currently busy muffling each of your moans with deep kisses. When your hand firmly grasps his magical shaft, he moans into the kiss and lift his hips eagerly.

 

You match your strokes of him to the tempo of his fingers on you, even adding in a few circular thumb strokes across his head… or where one would be, at least. His cock is not the longest you’ve seen, but it’s girthy and not shaped with all the veins and grooves of a human’s. It’s smooth, like his tongue and makes your hand tingle with magic. Your attentions make his breath catch and you don’t let up, even when his hands shake too much to touch you and just desperately grip your hips instead. With him holding you enough to balance you, both of your hands can come out to play, stroking and touching, squeezing and teasing.

 

You go until his bones are rattling against you and he is muttering your name and a mild stream of curses. Sensing his imminent release, you stroke strongly and murmur in his ear about how much you’d like to see him cum.

 

“______!” His pelvis bucks toward you and your hands are covered in hot, blue essence. Sans leans heavily into you, breathing hard. His eyes are closed and his skull is misted with sweat. Slowly, his arms rise to hold you close around the waist.

 

“How are you feeling?” you say, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and trying to keep the smug out of your voice.

 

“a-amazing… wow…” Against your shoulder, you feet his jaw twitch and before you can curiously look around, a long, hard, bony finger creeps up your leg, parts your lips and slips inside you. “my turn,” he growls softly.

 

You moan as he strokes your walls, leisurely exploring the inside of you. He finds every delicious spot and traces it with the tip of his bones, like he’s making a personal map of you. You’re clinging to him now as he curls his fingers to feel your walls flex. A second finger joins the first, stretching your entrance. He presses deeply into you and withdraws, the ridges and bumps on his phalanges feeling unbelievable as he moves in and out, then again and again. He responds to your yearning whimpers by opening his hand to stretch you to your limits, which makes your knees tremble violently.

 

“... _ please _ …” you whisper weakly, trying to press your aching clit against something,  _ anything _ . “Please touch me here…”

 

Sans obliges quickly with a thumb, drawing circles around the sensitive bundle of nerves, pushing you to the cusp of orgasm. You’re panting, clinging, moaning uncontrollably… your hips quiver like a bowstring pulled tight, but it’s not until your skeleton tickles your ear with his hot breath saying...

 

“cum for me… i want to see you.”

 

Then your orgasm crashes over you, an arrow singing to the target. You convulse in his arms, an indecent, lascivious noise escaping your trembling lips. He helps you ride through it, his thumb working quickly and gently to sustain you at your peak, then down from it and back onto the bed, lying beside him. He strokes your hair and waits for your shivering to quiet. When your breathing eventually slows, he grins into the dark.

 

“great saying you have, there.”

 

“Worked pretty well for you,” you whisper with your lip quirked into a very lopsided smile.

 

“did you have a good time?”

 

“Yeah. You?”

 

“mm-hmm. ” 

 

You drift off to sleep, just enjoying the quiet together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter gave me such shit. I must have rewritten it 5 times to get the mood right. Please give feedback and let me know how it went.
> 
> DC: 4


	7. Monster Pulp Fiction

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You spend some lovely time in Snowdin, getting to know the brothers and leave a voicemail for an old friend. Papyrus insists on fighting you as it is his prime directive for all humans, which lets you really SEE your soul for the first time. Silliness ensues and there are bad jokes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So it turns out that starting a fic is super easy while getting into the meat and potatoes of characterization and development is a bleeding whore. My goal is to have new chapters every Sunday, but as you can tell from last post, it’s becoming a challenge. *cracks knuckles* Let’s do this.

 

You wake up the next morning to a small finger prodding your face. Your eyes crack open enough to see painful light filtering through the partially shuttered window, an empty bed, and Frisk, two inches away.

 

“Nnnfgh… what’s up, squirt?” Your fingers make a total mockery of the signs, twitching uselessly through the air.

 

**You’re hung over** , they sign, sticking their tongue out.

 

Gravity pulls on your heavy head until it’s partially buried in the lumpy pillow. “Let this be a lesson,” you say into the pillow and sign for Frisk’s benefit in case your lips aren’t forming the words clearly enough through mouthfuls of feathers, “Don’t drink a whole bar’s worth of alcohol.”

 

Frisk’s loud laughter fills the room… and your skull. Moaning, you pull the sheet over your head to ineffectively block out the sound. A tap on your shoulder signals you to peek out.

 

**Orange-skeleton is making spaghetti for breakfast! Then they’re taking a day off work to show us around Snowdin!** Their hands are trembling with excitement, much like your vision, but it’s hard not to get infected.

 

“Okay,” you mumble. “Okay, I’m up.” You convince them to get you some water, which gives you a moment to drag your fingers through your hair and look at the empty spot on the bed where Sans lay last night.

 

It’s obvious from your throbbing headache that you were blitzed enough to be quite open and… shockingly forward with the friendly skeleton last night, but not so far gone that you don’t remember everything that happened. You spend a minute replaying it in your mind, searching anxiously for anything you said or did that you should feel bad about. Sans seemed pretty willing and able the whole time, though he was rather hesitant at first. Was it shyness? Uncertainty? Obliviousness? After a long moment’s thought, you decide that you will only regret your actions if it causes your hosts to be uncomfortable around you. True, last night was rather… sudden, but now that it’s out in the open, you can’t deny a budding attraction to Sans. He is clearly a responsible, intelligent, and funny individual, and capable of taking charge in many situations. Not to mention… skilled with fingers and tongue. A pleased flush rises in your cheeks at this thought. You quietly laugh to yourself and sigh, swinging your wobbly legs out of bed. How much oxytocin is filling your veins right now? What will it be like for him? Do monsters feel the same loyalty towards someone who has been intimate with their bodies?

 

Your train of thought is interrupted by Frisk returning with water and you both go downstairs, one somewhat more gingerly and sluggishly than the other.

 

In the tiny kitchen is Papyrus... and a fire. “GOOD MORNING!” he crows, furiously stirring a smoking pot on the overworked gas stove, splashing boiling water on the walls and nearly catching Frisk on the arm.

 

Adrenaline surges in your ears. You charge forward through the smoke, push past the ‘chef’, and turn off the burner. “What are you doing?” you demand, with wild, bloodshot eyes, shaking a threatening finger at the purpetrator.

 

“MAKING BREAKFAST!” responds Papyrus promptly, completely unphased by your deathglare. “IT’S SPAGHETTI!”

 

“I see this.” You peer up at Papyrus blearily. “I know I’m not the best cook,” you say with a pretty decent semblance of calm, “but I also know that’s the right way to burn the place down.”

 

“YES! UNDYNE HAS BURNED HER HOUSE DOWN COOKING MANY TIMES! TRULY, IT IS A DANGEROUS ART!”

 

How can this skeleton be so chipper about arson? You decide that’s a problem for later and admonish, “It doesn’t have to be! Water boils with a reasonable amount of heat! I’m not even sure how you got the safety valve off to get that much flame…”

 

The argument devolves rapidly from there, with Papyrus defending Undyne’s cooking techniques and you asserting the laws of chemistry and physics. You are starting to wonder whether Papyrus is being dense on purpose or if he really doesn’t understand how fire works when…

 

“who’s winning?” Behind you, Sans is suddenly sitting at the card table, watching Frisk’s fast fingers recap the whole argument. After relaying your particularly good argument about traditional al dente noodles, Sans quips, “it’s  _ gnocci _  to be an easy time convincing paps to change his pasta game.”

 

“This is serious!" you insist, turning to him in the hopes that he will join your side. "He could burn the whole place down, or scald someone with boiling water. I don’t know how it is for monsters, but 3rd degree burns are no fun for humans.” Sans has never heard of this before, so you quickly explain how burning human skin looks and feels while continually swatting Papyrus’ hands away from the burner knobs. You decide not to mention how close Frisk came to getting a potful of it, feeling a little nervous about coming off as overbearing.

 

The lazy skeleton shrugs and leans back in the office chair. “paps has gotten a lot better lately, but if you can get hurt, something will have to be done. can you help, maybe?”

 

Papyrus glows at the compliment, which allows you to seize the cooking chopsticks from him. You don’t stop to wonder about the ethnic mix of food and cooking implements, but dubiously test the pasta in the water.

 

“Did you salt and oil the water?” you ask, not mollified even a little, but growing tired of the ache in your skull. Maybe working with the situation instead of fighting will produce better results.

 

“YES! IT HAS BEEN IMPECCABLY SEASONED BY ME, THE GREAT PAPYRUS!”

 

You share a glance with Frisk, who pretends not to notice your side-eye. There were a few reliable meals that everyone in your family knew how to make in case the primary cook (you, usually) was working. Spaghetti, as well as other forms of pasta, was one. Frisk could probably make it in their sleep at this point and they probably wouldn’t describe oil, salt, and water as ‘impeccably seasoned’, even though it was an important step.

 

“Ok. Do you know how to test whether the noodles are done?”

 

Papyrus launches into a well-rehearsed spiel on how the euphoric spaghetti ingredients blend together seamlessly into a symphonic delight of noodle and sauce when you interrupt…

 

“Dude, you’re making this way too hard. Just throw a noodle at the cabinet. If it sticks, it’s done.”

 

Papyrus’ jaw hangs open, speechless. You shrug and pluck a long tendril from the pot with the chopsticks and flick it at the wall. It curls into a strange shape and hangs there, steaming slightly. You gesture with the sticks like the spaghetti made its own point.

 

“i guess that ends a... _sticky situation_ ,” quips the casual baritone voice behind you. You fight to keep your lips from curling into a smile, but fail, letting yourself chuckle. You're feeling a little smug at the way the tall-skeleton’s jawbone is flapping like a fish, but rather than gloat, you turn to dash the noodles into a strainer and run cold water over them. You sign to Frisk to help you with opening and heating sauce, then let them throw it together and let them stir it all up in the pot. There is another empty office chair at the card table that has your name on it. You sink gratefully into it and rest your tired eyes on folded arms.

 

“hungover, huh?”

 

“Been a long time since I drank like that. How about you? You seem fine.”

 

“hn,” he says noncommittally, propping two feet up on the dangerously shaking table. After last night’s long pun battle at the bar, you’ve noticed that Sans has a way of understanding the heart of any situation quickly; almost like he knows what’s happening before anyone else. This shrewd intuition is then hidden by lazy posture, casual tone, and a deluge of puns but here, in this space, when both of you are so unfamiliar and the situation is so new, you can see the anxiety in the corners of his eyes, the tightness of his teeth pressed together. Clearly, he is wondering about the consequences of last night, too. It softens your heart greatly and you rub his ankle, smiling.

 

“Frisk knows what they’re doing,” you say casually, giving him the opportunity to pretend that his worry is about breakfast.

 

His bright eye lights search your face, clearly deciding how to answer. You are struck very suddenly with the surety that he knows what you’re doing when the corner of his lazy smile twitches. It looks like you pass some kind of test because he answers, “never doubted. kid can  _ fricasse _ their way out of any  _ flambe _ .”

 

“I think you’re making stuff up now.”

 

Your youngest family member has shooed Papyrus to the table with you. Over a little indignant protest about methodology, they set four mismatched bowls of spaghetti on the wobbling table and join. You reach in to take a noodle and recoil sharply.

 

“Ow!” you hold your hand and pout. Frisk waves the chopsticks threateningly. You roll your eyes overdramatically and wait for a fork to be handed to you. It’s pretty good spaghetti considering it was saved from the mouth of hell a few moments ago. Everyone seems to be eating contentedly until you catch a look at Papyrus’ face and nearly drop your fork.

 

Papyrus is openly weeping, loading forkful after forkful into his wibbling mouth. He sniffles dramatically and lets his utensil clatter loudly on the empty bowl so he can bury his face in his gloved hands and sob loudly.

 

“IT’S! SO! DELICIOUS! IT’S THE BEST FOOD I’VE EVER TASTED! NEVER AGAIN WILL I, THE GREAT PAPYRUS, EVER EXPERIENCE SUCH COMESTIBLE BLISS!”

 

Frisk stifles a laugh when they read your signs and pats the distraught skeleton on the scapula. “There, there,” you say for them. “We can always make it again.”

 

“WOULD YOU?” he exclaims, seizing Frisk’s hands, who smiles and nods vigorously. “I WOULD BE SO HONORED!”

 

Frisk yanks one hand away long enough to sign that they’ll be responsible for dinner tonight, which sends Papyrus into wild hoots of glee. He leaps up from the table and sprints off to his room to get… something, which gives you just enough time to realize that you didn’t translate for him. You turn to Sans, who has also had no trouble following the conversation without help.

 

“Do all monsters understand ASL?”

 

“what’s asl?”

 

“The hand language that Frisk and I use.”

 

“nope. we understand you, though.”

 

This answer doesn’t illuminate anything for you, but Papyrus has returned with an armful of coats and scarves, ready for the day’s outing, so it falls from your mind as you pull on Sans’ extra brown hoodie… for now.

 

xXx

 

The skeletons make a proper job of showing you and Frisk around the entirety of Snowdin. You start at the librarby, which is small, but comfortable; the home of a few friendly reading groups. Both you and Frisk have fun browsing, then check out books using Papyrus’ card. They get some monster children’s stories and you pull several on magic and monster biology. Sans disappears at the counter, then explains outside that he may or may not be completely at a loss for where three or four of their books might be. All the same, he teleports the books home so you both can have free hands to talk.

 

Frisk makes a beeline for the very center of town, where many monsters and monster children are gathered. In the middle of the square stands a beautifully decorated tree. Garlands of bright tinsel and popcorn on strings drape off every branch along with shining stars and glass baubles, but under is a gloriously tall pile of neatly wrapped presents of all sizes. You walk around the Christmas(?) tree, folding your hands into the pockets of Sans’ extra hoodie and watch Frisk interact with the monster children. It’s interesting how children everywhere fall into games of tag so easily. You’re concerned that a little yellow monster continuously falls on their face, but no one moves to help and the little guy sprints off eagerly enough each time, so you shrug and look more closely at the brightly wrapped presents. It’s weird to you that gifts would be out in such a public space for anyone to see and the worry clearly shows on your face.

 

“everyone knows everyone here,” says Sans, who has silently sidled up beside you. “we never plan who gets presents for whom, but everyone always ends up with one.”

 

You think about your family’s last Christmas and can’t think of anything to say about it that wouldn’t instantly kill a friendly mood. “That’s nice,” you say instead. “Christmas isn’t for almost half a year on the surface, but it looks like you could have it all year down here. Is it always snowing here?”

 

Sans tell you that the does, then asks a question about how time is reckoned on the surface, so you start explaining months and years and why this year is 20XX. You discover together that monsters are on some other kind of calendar altogether, so they’re a little behind and don’t have leap years. He listens with rapt attention as you describe the many kinds of crazy calendars that are used and the new one proposed that would make all the months the same length, asking questions all the way. Sans is just starting to explain how their day/night cycles work when…

 

“AHEM?” You both look up with some guilt. Frisk is badly smothering giggles with one hand while Papyrus stands above you, hands on his hips. “IF YOU TWO ARE  _ QUITE _ FINISHED I WAS GOING TO TAKE THE HUMANS TO SEE THE ICE HOUSE! IT SEEMS THAT ONCE AGAIN I MUST ORGANIZE EVERYTHING!” He then flounces off a different path, sashaying with extra annoyance.

 

Frisk follows at a trot, briefly turning around to use two fingers to push up glasses they don’t wear; the sign for ‘ **nerd** ’.

 

Your fingers fly through the air, “ **It is you who are the nerd, stink bottom!”**

 

**“At least I’m not in looooooove!”** and then they turn away, scampering after Papyrus so that they deliberately can’t see your answer.

 

Ooh, that kid makes your blood boil sometimes. You and Sans follow more slowly and a tiny smile creeps onto your face despite yourself. The entire morning the last niggling doubt about last night’s activities had hung out in the back of your mind, but with this one exchange, it vanished. Sans clearly didn’t feel badly about it, and you had just totally geeked out together about calendars of all things. You sneak a glance at Sans and see a familiar blue flush on his cheeks, and suddenly your heart skips a beat.  _ Oh no! Sans understands ASL! Somehow… _

 

“so… stink bottom?” he asks, rather obviously choosing the safe thing to comment upon.

 

“Oh, haha! It’s been a nickname since they were a baby. Of all my siblings, their butt was the stinkiest when it came to changing diapers. It’s like they were determined to make each poop epic.”

 

Sans laughed, so you tell him more stories about your brothers and sisters as children. This topic carries you up the hill to a river that flows down from the direction of Toriel's ruins. You look at the dark water for a moment and pull out the old nokia from your pocket. Excusing youself, you call her number, which rings until voicemail.

 

"You have reached the mailbox of Toriel Dreemurr," says her kind, smooth voice. "I'm not available right now, so please leave a message after the tone, thank you! ...How do I turn it off now?"

 

BEEEEEEEP

 

After laughing at her unsavvy technological skills, you just talk. You tell her about meeting the skeletons and Frisk following you. You talk about drinking with Sans and your amazing pun battle. You gloss quickly over the activities that followed, moving quickly on to how beautiful Snowdin is and how much you miss her already. Finally... you thank her quietly for letting Frisk through so you can be together, as she surely must have done. 

 

"You have reached the message limit. Goodbye!" says a mechanical operator's voice. You are surprised to find that your eyes are a little damp. With the back of your sleeve, you wipe the tears away and return to your friends. Sans nudges you with his shoulder in a friendly way, but doesn't say anything.

 

Watching the strong monster at the ice house was interesting, as was skipping rocks across the cold river. You absolutely drew the line at letting Frisk swim in it (you’ll catch your death!), but the four of you walk up and down for some time collecting and throwing pebbles and branches, with a running commentary about each tree and rock provided by your tour guide, Papyrus. You all follow the floating ice blocks until the river widens and your path becomes narrow.

 

“AND THIS IS THE BRIDGE WHERE ALL HUMANS MUST BE CHALLENGED!” Papyrus announces. You startle for a second. The air here is thick with freezing mist. Papyrus is standing many feet away from you, one hand planted confidently on his pelvis, the other thrust proudly in the air. Frisk looks eager, prattling to themselves with wiggling fingers, but Sans stands just behind them, hands stuffed deep in his pockets with closed eyes.

 

“Um… challenged?” you say, hoping your words aren’t lost in the cutting breeze. It’s only partially due to cold that you shiver in your skirt.

 

“YES! CHALLENGE! IT IS MY DUTY AS A FUTURE ROYAL GUARD TO CHALLENGE AND CAPTURE ANY HUMAN THAT COMES HERE!” He points at you and declares, “I CHALLENGE YOU, HUMAN, TO A FIGHT! IF YOU WIN, YOU MAY PASS! IF I WIN, I WILL CAPTURE YOU!”

 

You look around and discover that Frisk and Sans have scarpered. Not very far (a fresh double trail of footprints leads straight behind a large bush covered in snow) but you are clearly the only person Papyrus could be talking to. Awkwardly, you clear your throat.

 

“Are you sure?”

 

“YES, I’M SURE. IT IS THE ONLY WAY, FOR I MUST BECOME A ROYAL GUARDSMAN AND ACHIEVE MY LIFELONG DREAM! UNDYNE HAS PROMISED THAT IF I DEFEAT A HUMAN, I CAN JOIN AND BECOME THE POPULAR MONSTER I AM DESTINED TO BE!”

 

It’s just about the answer you expected. With a small amount of resignation, you roll up your hoodie’s sleeves while in Papyrus’ outstretched hand, a bone materializes. You stare daggers at the bush shaking with laughter and sign deliberately to Frisk, 90% sure that they are watching and enjoying themselves immensely.

 

**Please remind Sans that he told me he’d do his best to keep me safe.**

 

You take the shaking of the bush as an affirmation.

 

The first bone zings through the air by you, but aims widely enough to constitute a warning shot. Either way, your heartbeat spikes and you fall into a defensive stance, hands outstretched to swat away projectiles… but something is already there.

 

You saw your soul so briefly before that it feels like you regard the bright amber heart as if for the first time. Interestedly, you notice that it appears to be made in layers: on the outside is a clearer shell that glows brightly, then inside is a darker core that seems to smoulder like campfire embers. It would fit into your cupped hands if you could manage to touch it, but your fingers pass right through like a hologram, though doing so strokes something intangible inside you, making you shiver. It’s warm and comforting to see hovering before you some two and half feet away from your chest, but you soon feel apprehensive when you look down the bridge to Papyrus, who is holding more bones.

 

It’s tricky: he can throw bones very, very quickly and you are fast on your feet, but under the snow is a layer of slippery ice. A few dodges along and your footing becomes treacherous. More than a few bones strike your arms and legs, heavy impacts that will surely bruise.

 

“W-wait!” you pant. The glow of your soul pulses in time with your fast, shallow breaths.

 

“GET READY FOR MY SPECIAL ATTACK!” he yells gleefully, either not hearing you or not listening.

 

More bones come at you, seeming to change location and color as they fly. You are paralyzed with indecision, turning on your heel. At the last minute, you throw your arms in front of your face and hope for the best, but the magic simply dissolves over you in a cloud of pale blue dust.

 

“I SEE YOU ARE FAMILIAR WITH MY FABLED BLUE ATTACK! I’M IMPRESSED, HUMAN BUT SOON, I WILL USE MY SPECIAL ATTACK!”

 

“That wasn’t it!?” Your hands on your knees are the only thing propping you up right now. Your body is so tired and sluggish, shivering in the cold wind. Your brain is getting slower every second and you see the white mist return at the corners of your eyes. This is not a good sign. You try to take deep breaths, but time is growing short. Standing up nearly straight, you make the universally understood sign for ‘time out’ above your head hoping he will see it and let you take a break, but as per usual, you have chosen exactly the worst time to leave yourself unguarded.

 

A long, heavy humerus plows straight into your sternum, knocking the wind out of you. Your feet away fly on the slippery ice, landing you straight on your back and sliding back a few feet. You gasp and clutch your chest, the white mist closing in completely over your sight. Air will not go in or out.  _ Breathe… I have to breathe… c’mon, lungs! Work!  _ Your eyes squeeze shut, trying to hold back the panic as the seconds without oxygen drag by. Microscopic tears edge out from between your eyelids to instantly freeze on your eyelashes. Your chest is burning.  _ Please… _ you think wildly,  _ I’ll do anything, I’ll even let him win, just please… please let me breathe… don’t let me die in front of Frisk... _

 

The universe hears you. The tiniest of breaths inflates your lungs and the burning, straining feeling recedes. Each delicious gulp of air is bigger and heartier until you are simply lying on the ground, feeling the hard ice beneath you. With a barely audible  _ crack _ your eyes open to see your soul hovering above you. Slowly, its flickering becomes stronger and brighter, melting off big, fluffy snowflakes that are now fluttering down from the grey cavern ceiling.  _ That… was a close one. _

 

“ARE YOU HURT?” You roll your head to one side to see Papyrus, still standing at the edge of the bridge, but twisting a bone in his hand nervously. It would be easy to be angry, but he’s so clearly concerned about you that it just melts away. You sit up and brush quite a bit of snow off your head and shoulders. How long were you lying there? A few seconds? A few minutes?

 

“I’m fine!” you call, making your entire torso ache. “Or, I will be, anyway.” As you stand, your promise is in the forefront of your mind and you wonder how you are going to let Papyrus win without dying in the process. It's obvious that you are in no condition to keep dodging, and you severely doubt anything good will come or bullrushing down the bridge at him. The first job is to make him keep fighting because it looks like he’s about ready to throw in the towel right now. His kicked-puppy face tugs your heartstrings. You point at him and shout, “You’re not finished, are you? I thought the Great Papyrus had more to offer!” 

 

Your challenge perks him up instantaneously. “FEAR NOT, HUMAN! THERE ARE MORE BONES WHERE THOSE CAME FROM!” At this, a joke that Sans told last night pops into your mind and you act impulsively.

 

“W-what if I’m interested in a different kind of  _ bone _ ?” you retort, wiggling your fingers at him and striking a confident pose. “You know what I’m talking about!” A big, theatrical wink augments your declaration. 

 

Papyrus reels back as if stunned. “F-FLIRTING? D-DURING OUR FIGHT? COULD IT BE THAT YOU ARE CONFESSING YOUR ULTIMATE FEELINGS?”

 

You chew on this turn of events for a good minute, partially wondering how we got here and partially wondering what to do now. Thinking carefully about Papyrus’ manner, his hilariously overactive ego, and his flair for the dramatic, you come up with an idea that might get you out of this fight with no punches thrown. You wave one hand at the giggling bushes to get your good-for-nothing companions’ attention. Sans’ head pops up just above the snow, sniggering.

 

**Hey, Sans** , you sign.

 

He raises his bonebrows in response.

 

**Do any love-books make it down here?** On the spot, you forget the words for ‘romance novel’, but this is close enough.

 

He appraises you with narrow eyes, then signs a definite  **yes.**

 

**Is there any chance that Papyrus likes them?**

 

At this, his eye lights twinkle mischeviously.  **Yes** .

 

**Is ‘yes’ the only thing you can sign?**

 

**...yes.** His shit-eating grin says otherwise, but he disappears back behind the bush.

 

“WELL, HUMAN?” Papyrus stands at the end of the bridge, his cape fluttering ludicrously in the breeze.

 

“Uh, um… uh! I mean… Oh, Papyrus, it’s true!” you say loudly in a soupy, overdramatic voice, clasping your hands to your heart while your soul shines brilliantly before you. You hesitantly tiptoe down the ice bridge to him as though each step is like a little confession and hopefully not like you're afraid of slipping and falling into the frigid river. “I am hopelessly, overwhelmingly  _ in love with you _ !! It would be the  _ greatest _ honor if you, oh  _ great _ Papyrus,” you pause to take both his gloved hands in yours and stare with gross longing into his eye sockets, “would go on a  _ date _ with me.”

 

“HUMAN, I CAN SEE YOUR ARE BESIDE YOURSELF WITH EMOTION! HOW COULD I BE SO CALLOUS AS TO BREAK YOUR COURAGEOUS HEART?” Papyrus kneels in front of you suddenly, still holding your hands and presses his cranium to their backs. “THEREFORE I, THE GREAT PAPYRUS,  _ WILL _ TAKE YOU ON A DATE AND FULFILL YOUR GREATEST DESIRE, FOR NO ONE IS BETTER AT DATING THAN I!”

 

You gasp and turn away, biting your finger. “No! It cannot be, for I am a human and you… are a monster. We could never be together!” You hear barely restrained snickers from behind the treeline, causing a dusting of snow to fall from the branches of Frisk and Sans' hideout.

 

Papyrus is on his feet at once, hand outstretched much like a sword. “DO NOT FEAR, BELOVED HUMAN! I WILL CHALLENGE ANY WHO DENOUNCE WHAT WE HAVE!” He stands behind you, his hands on your shoulders. Then, with a terrifying amount of strength, he turns you to face him and dips you back, his hand on the small of your back to hold you close. “LET THEM COME!” he declares, the lights in his eyes bright with passion and mirth.

 

“Oh Papyrus,” you swoon, prying one hand from his unbelievable grip and touching the side of his… um… skull. “We’ll always have…  _ spaghetti _ .” Laughter explodes from the bushes. In the corner of your eye you see Frisk rolling on the ground, holding their sides. Suddenly a call rings out…

 

“papyrus, look! a puzzle!”

 

“WHAT??” Papyrus turns abruptly and  _ drops _ you. He immediately realizes his error. “OH, NO! HUMAN! ARE YOU ALL RIGHT?”

 

“Oh yeah, yeah,” you complain, getting up while dusting snow off your legs and hoodie. Your soul twitches with irritation. “I didn’t need that dignity.” You draw yourself up to your full height, take a deep, calming breath, and hold out your hand to Papyrus. “I think this means that you win.”

 

Papyrus seizes your hand in both of his and gives you a handshake enthusiastic enough to dislocate your shoulder. “WOWIE! DID YOU SEE, SANS? I WON!” While he screeches and pumps your arm, your amber soul fades and dissolves back into your chest... safe. You feel like you can breathe freely again.

 

_ “ _ i’d say you were rather…  _ up-caged _ , personally,” comments Sans, sauntering out from behind the bush with Frisk in tow, having managed to control his humor. “are you still going to capture her?”

 

You watch Papyrus dither. It’s obvious that he doesn’t want to, but that he also feels obligated to act in accordance with his ultimate goal. You remember what he said about why he wants to be in the royal guard and pat his hands sympathetically. “It’s ok. We can still be friends.”

 

“REALLY?” His face glows with orange patches on his cheek bones. This seems to decide it for him. “I CAN’T CAPTURE A FRIEND! I HEREBY GIVE YOU BOTH PERMISSION TO PASS THROUGH!”

 

“well,” says Sans, nodding with his hands stuffed in his pockets. He winks at you. “all’s well that ends well. let’s go to grillby’s. we can be burger-buddies.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DC: 5


	8. Cultural Exchange

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sans thinks about the consequences of your presence in the underground. And other things, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dear lord, I suck at introspective dialog. Also keeping straight what is in past tense and what is in present. Ugh.
> 
> If you have questions about the characters or the way this specific world works, please leave them in comments and they may be answered next chapter.
> 
> Addtl: Who put all this fluff here? What am I supposed to do with it now?

 

After a quick, restorative lunch at Grillby’s (during which Papyrus complained incessantly about the lack of italian wheat and wheat byproducts), the new friends played together in the snowy forest, throwing snowballs, making snow skeletons, and generally carousing to celebrate a satisfying end to the conflict. Many jokes were told, many high fives were shared, and many mischievous snowballs found their way down unsuspecting pants. The crystals embedded high in the cavern’s vast stalactites glittered like stars when you all trouped back to the skeleton brother’s house at long last, tired, cold and damp.

 

First it was a round of hot baths and showers for all, then another satisfying meal of spaghetti made by Frisk and supervised by you, and finally the commencement the evening’s activity: movies. Everyone crowded around the couch, you and Sans on the cushions with Papyrus and Frisk down front and the parade of battered VHS tapes began. It was tough to choose what to watch first: the dramady of love starring a boxy robot named Mettaton, the tragic tale of love and woe starring a boxy robot named Mettaton, or the dramatic yet inspirational story of heartache starring a boxy robot named Mettaton, but in the end you all chose the quirky, upbeat rom-com starring a boxy robot named Mettaton. Even Papyrus had to admit that the pickins were slim, but he was too excited to share his passions to be upset as always.

 

Sans’ eyes were on the tv for most of the movie, but really all of his attention was on you. You lay stretched out on the couch, so short that you could lean your body on one arm but even with your legs totally extended, your toes couldn’t quite touch his bones as he leaned on the other arm. He thought it was amusing how your toes sometimes wiggled after you laughed at a bad joke in the movie. If he was honest with himself (which inside his mind, he could be), he thought all of your reactions were interesting.

 

With everyone focusing peacefully on the movie, his mind can wander freely; in fact, he’s not sure he can stop it. This movie is so old and overplayed he’s memorized exactly where all the tape stretches occur. Instead, he plays back your and Papyrus’ fight in his mind... both of them. The first part was the same both times, Papyrus throws a bone for a sudden start, your frenzied dodges and skittering slides in the snow. He suspected he could draw a picture of the transfixed look on your face when your soul burst forth from your chest, burning brightly like a torch. You were beautiful and terrified all at once. He remembers your arms stretch above your head the first time, calling desperately for a time out, and the bone that broke your sternum with such force, it impaled you completely. It had only taken a second for your face to go dead white and you fell back in a sluggish arc. Your face nearly matched the white snow, though it was soon stained with your own bright red blood. Papyrus had hardly had time to register his deadly mistake before the timeline yanked back from under his feet.

 

Suddenly, you turn and flash him a bright, white smile, not knowing that he is seeing your crumpled, dead body in his skull. He winks at you with a big, disarming grin, mouthing the next line in the film along with Mettaton.

 

“ _ Darling, you know I never go out on Tuesdays… how about we… stay in? _ ” The robot rolls forward to take the leading lady in his arms while the lighting switches from ‘sassy’ to ‘mood’. 

 

Oh, it’s so bad.

 

Your raised shoulders and eyebrows only too clearly show what you think, but Sans sees that you never once look like you’re going to say any of the comments rolling around in your head out loud. He briefly considers saying something snarky first to encourage you to respond, but then your face relaxes fondly at Papyrus and Frisk’s laughter and he understands. You don’t want to ruin their experience. Sans can really respect that and turns his face back to the screen, hiding a little smile in his teeth.

 

Something very interesting is happening with you, something he hasn’t seen before. By this point in their underground experience, Frisk was a champ at time manipulation to both splendid and terrible effect. Sans bites his lip at the memory of the ways Frisk abused their power, and stuffs that memory away quickly where it can be forgotten. You, on the other hand, were resetting as well, but you had yet to either reload to a Save point or manually Reset yourself. So far, Resets appear to be triggered by your death and the timeline only Reset all the way back to your fall. If he thought about it, he could recall Frisk loading from Save points almost right away. What was different here?

 

Right then, one of your hands crams itself over your mouth to smother laughter at the scene on TV. The robot is performing an act on the leading lady that is clearly meant to be erotic, but only demonstrates a profound lack of knowledge about the human body. Sans chuckles appreciatively and sneaks a sideways glance at you, feeling his cheeks glow blue.

 

There, in your chest, hums your amber soul; warm and flickering like the flame of a candle. He resists the urge to reach out and pull you into his arms, to feel your warmth against his bones. You two haven’t spoken about the events last night yet and until you did, it was wiser to wait. Besides… he had gotten to enjoy it twice.

 

It was reassuring that so far, your choices were consistent, though you didn’t remember having made them. Every time, you emerged from the ruins in a similar state and fell when meeting him at the bridge. Both times in the forest, you expertly play into Papyrus’ theatrics… and both times, he decides to kiss you in the dark of his room. Your mouth is soft and warm and he loves how you pull him closer, to deepen your kiss. It makes him a little jealous of Papyrus on the frozen bridge, holding you close in his arms, your hand on his cheekbone… Declaring his love for you in a way that makes ears ring. 

 

Maybe you’d like something quieter, he thinks, chuckling a little at his brothers’ manner. Something… whispered, personal. Sans could hold you close and brush your hair over your ear for you. That seems like a mood that would appeal to you, something different than what you’ve experienced with the skeletons so far. He pictures you looking up at him with shining eyes murmuring his name. What would he say to you? Would he tell you how you make him feel? Would he tell you how much he admires your intelligence and bravery? Or would he just growl into your ear a detailed list of all the carnal things he wants to do to you… 

 

This fantasy carries him all the way through the movie when he suddenly notices the credits, glances around, and sees a room full of sleeping forms. Papyrus is leaning back with legs all akimbo, snoring soundly while Frisk is strewn across his uneven lap. Sans leans forward and spies their thumb in their mouth, peacefully sucking in their sleep. He sighs fondly and turns to look at you, when the sigh sticks in his throat.

 

You lay loosely curled around the soft couch pillow, one arm hugging it to you and the other thrown out over the edge of the couch. Thick hair spills over your eyes and mouth, fluttering gently in time with your deep, slow breaths. Your serene face is captivating. Barely parted lips, eyes quietly closed; sleep smooths away the worry in your jaw and the pinch between your brows. You’re so… lovely. His phalanges twitch, longing to touch your pink cheek and press his mouth to yours.

 

Forcefully, Sans closes his eyes and scolds himself for rattling his own bones. He puts Frisk and Papyrus in Papyrus’ room, carrying each as gently up the stairs as possible and depositing them into the racecar bed. He swallows thickly and carries you upstairs as well, laying the wrinkled sheet over you. It should really be washed… tomorrow. Responsibility complete, Sans goes back downstairs to the kitchen and sets the kettle on the stove.

 

He’s still thinking about you while the kettle boils, but not in a way that makes his track shorts uncomfortably tight. He’s thinking about the way you move, the curve of your lips in a smile, the sound of your singing floating down the hall. With a squeeze in his chest, he remembers your joy at Grillby’s, your growing trust in following him to Snowdin, and the blinking of your bright eyes in the daylight outside the purple stones of the ruins of Home. ...He should tell you, you deserve to know.

 

_ Creeeeeeak _

 

Sans looks over his shoulder and spots the corner of Frisk’s striped sweater at the doorway of the kitchen.

 

“hey, pal,” he calls quietly. Frisk peeks around the doorjamb like they’re worried about getting into trouble. “woke up, huh?” Frisk nods, rubbing one eye. “Want some tea?” Frisk nods again, a grin lighting up their face.

 

With a twinkle of blue magic, Sans lazily floats two mugs to the table, followed by the kettle full of steaming water. He fills the cups and sits with Frisk, who plays with the teabag, dunking and redunking to watch the brown water drip. They never were patient with steeping.

 

There’s a lot to say between the two old friends… and also a lot not to say. It was not that long ago that Frisk Reset the timeline and though he very much wants to know the circumstances, Sans has never made it a point to ask about the reasons for Resets. Sometimes it’s obvious, sometimes Frisk volunteers the reason themselves, but sometimes.... sometimes when Frisk thinks about why they Reset, there’s a hollow, dead look in their eyes that tells Sans only too clearly that he doesn’t want to know.

 

“so your sister’s down here now,” remarks Sans with extreme nonchalance, blowing on the tea and taking a sip. “how’s that going for you, bud?”

 

Because of Sans’ extraordinary ability to read souls, he actually doesn’t have to bother with hand language if he doesn’t want to. He can just watch Frisk’s face and beating soul to gather all the meaning he needs. Discovering this with his young friend was a hilarious process that proved to be extremely useful in many runs. Frisk, for their part, became extremely adept at reading Sans’s… well, not _ lips _ , but mouth and jaw movements enough to eschew the need for gestures on the skeleton’s part also. Sans wonders often whether the gifted child doesn’t have some natural talent for soul magic.

 

Frisk turns the mug in their hands slowly. At some length, they look up and think without signing,  **I can’t Load and Reset anymore. I tried earlier, just to see if I could… but I can’t.**

 

Sans’ eyes widen. “is that so?” he murmurs, gears whirring in his brain. He had vaguely wondered what it would mean to have two humans with time manipulation powers together underground, but this takes the problem in a new direction.  _ Universe, you saucy minx. What game are you playing? _

 

“i’m sorry, kiddo,” he adds after a bit. “that must be hard.”

 

They nod, brown hair swinging in front of their eyes. One hand thoughtfully tucks it behind an ear, a smooth gesture Sans has seen you make a few times. The mannerisms are uncanny, he’s realizing. 

 

“have you thought about what you’re going to do now?”

 

Frisk gives an unconcerned half shrug.  **Does it matter? It’s her turn now.**

 

“hey now,” Sans chides. “that’s not a good attitude to have about it. that’s how you get stuck in a patrol station season after season.” He sticks out his blue translucent tongue at the child, who smiles reluctantly and mirrors the gesture with an impudent smirk. Too quickly, though, the child’s face falls back to their rueful contemplation of the half empty mug. Their soul flickers morosely. Sans taps the table to get their attention and says slowly, “maybe you only get so many chances, eh? after everything you and i have done, i have a hard time believing you did something to disqualify yourself. hell, maybe it’s just dumb luck that she fell first this time.”

 

Frisk makes a noncommittal ‘maybe’ gesture with one hand, but looks less sad anyway.  **She doesn’t remember,** they comment with a frown.

 

“yeah, i noticed. how long did it take you to remember through Resets, though?” 

 

They stare at a corner of the ceiling, using their fingers to count. It takes a while to think through the hundreds of runs, but they eventually conclude, **Second, maybe third run?**

 

“not bad, short stack. do you remember what caused you to start remembering?”

 

Slowly, they shake their head, then stop.  **I think… I think it was you** . One finger points generally at the skeleton.  **I think you made me remember a password and when I could tell it back to you, you explained everything.**

 

“hm,” grunts Sans. That sounds like a thing he’d do. “I guess if that’s how it’s done,  _ open says-a-me _ .”

 

They make a gesture that Sans has never seen before, which he quickly concludes must be the sign for your name.  **I think you should wait to tell her. We’ve… we’ve been through a lot and… she seemed really happy today.** Frisk bites one lip and actually signs to emphasize their words, **I’d like her to be happy.** They fix Sans with a stare that feels like it bores right through to his soul. 

 

Sans wonders again whether Frisk has soul magic and swallows, feeling the sweat rise on the back of his skull. “uh… that’s what i’d like too, pal.”

 

This seems to satisfy the determined child. They drain their tea and set the mug in the sink. Then, little arms wrap around Sans’ barrel chest and Frisk yawns widely into his fluffy blue hoodie. Gently, the monster returns the hug, letting his eyes fall closed to savor the small warmth.

 

They pull away.  **Goodnight, Sans.**

 

“goodnight,” he replies with a quick hair-ruffle. “i’m glad you made it back.” He watches them go up the stairs, thinking about their determination to make (and keep!) their sister happy and safe.

 

_...I should ask her on a date. _

 

He’s still thinking about it when his own cup joins Frisk’s in the sink and he pads up the stairs to his room. Automatically, he opens the door and kicks off his pink slippers, but when he looks up, he could smack his forehead if it wouldn’t make a loud clatter of bones. How could he forget he put you to bed up here?

 

“Nnngh… Sans?” your voice is thick with sleep, but your eyes shine brightly in the dark room.

 

“uh… yeah. sorry, pal, i forgot…”

 

“Don’t be silly… your bed is big enough for both of us. Don’t go sleep on the couch like a doofus.” You roll over and pull back the wrinkled sheet to let him in. 

 

The soul pounding in his throat makes it hard to think, but he somehow pulls off his hoodie to hang on the treadmill and slides in beside you in only his short and t-shirt. You obligingly throw the sheet back over you both.

 

“are you sure this is ok?” he asks, looking down at your face which is half-buried in one side of the pillow.

 

You fix him with one steely eye. “Are you pulling my leg? After what we did last night?”

 

“ _ tibia _ honest, i wasn’t sure you remembered… or wanted to.” 

 

Your eyes flick back and forth over his tense skull for a long, held breath, then soften. Firmly, you slide both your arms around his body, one under his neck and one overtop of his thick ribs, and press him close. “And here, I was worried you’d think I was trash.”

 

Sans lets his breath out in a wheezy laugh. “i couldn’t ever think that,” he says, really meaning it. He closes his eyes and throws all caution to the wind. “i wanna take you out… just you and me.” He feels you stiffen in surprise, then stammers, “o-only if you want.”

 

You can’t help it. You have to hide your face in his chest, paralyzed with giggles. It’s just like when he asked to kiss you and it’s so… so…  _ endearing. _ “Yes! Yes, I’d love to go out with you.”

 

“really?” He can hardly believe his luck.

 

“Of course. When do you want to?”

 

Sans, in his infinite wisdom, did not plan this far ahead. “tomorrow? i mean, i have work in the morning, but after…”

 

“Sounds great,” you whisper and turn over, already half asleep. “Tomorrow…”

 

Sans wraps his arms around you and joins you moments after.


	9. The Big Plan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You and your friends prepare for your date with Sans.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For everyone’s enjoyment: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3lw1PyCPDyA

The next morning, as is quickly becoming normal, you wake up in Sans’ bed alone. On the pillow beside your head is a note scrawled in childish lowercase.

 

morning babe,

 

paps and i work until 4 NHT. you can stop by, or hang with frisk and do your own thing… whatever. ;D paps said he might take off early to help you _get ready_ , so id be lookin out for that. hes really excited about us going out. later.

 

p.s. what do you call a friend whos a skeleton?

 

You look more closely at the smiley face he drew and realize that it looks like a winking skull. It makes your eyes crinkle fondly. You turn the note over expecting to see the answer to his question and read an old shopping list with only three things written over and over: ketchup, spaghetti, tomato sauce. You think to yourself that it would be nice to make the kind skeletons a proper dinner with an entree, sides, and even dessert and coffee, but you can’t imagine how you would afford something like that.

 

A rustling sound drifts through the door from downstairs which makes you thing that Frisk must be up to something, so you haul yourself out of bed and trade the t-shirt and shorts for the only other outfit you’ve worn so far. Automatically, you check the items in the pockets and think that you’d probably better find something else to wear for your date. When you throw on the brown hoodie that may or may not be on permanent loan to you, your fingers unexpectedly touch round metal objects and you pull out two handfuls of gold. It takes a moment, but as you think about it, you remember that a monster gave it to you after you ‘won’ the pun battle at Grillby’s. _I guess that solves that problem._ You carefully put it back and close the door to Sans’ room.

 

Downstairs, Frisk is standing on a chair to reach the stove. There are several open containers of spaghetti scattered all over the counter, but instead of reheating it in pasta form, Frisk seems to be trying to fry the spaghetti into pasta patties. Beside them is a plate piled high with burnt, crispy and soggy spaghetti pucks in various states of falling apart. Grimacing, you tap the counter in their field of vision to get their attention.

 

 **You know you’re not supposed to cook by yourself,** you admonish with insincere sternness.

 

 **I know,** they sign impatiently with one hand. **You weren’t up yet and I wanted breakfast.**

 

You shrug to yourself. Frisk has always had a laissez-faire opinion of rules. Why should it be different down here? **That doesn’t look like it’s going so well.** Frisk pulls a sour face. **Maybe we can find something better at the store. What do you think?**

 

At this, Frisk hops off the chair excitedly, ready to bolt out the door right away, but you pull them back firmly and help them clean up the culinary disaster they made. Only when the pot is scrubbed and counters cleaned, you help Frisk into their hoodie and venture out into the freezing town.

 

On the doorstep, you pause. At your back is the warmth of the only safe place you both have down here. In front of you, a whole town of strangers. Right when you met Sans, he told you that he had been waiting to catch humans, and right now you were planning on waltzing through a whole town of monsters, any of whom could be ready to capture you at any moment. Then again, none of them seemed to notice you on your outing yesterday with the skeletons… is it safe?

 

Frisk makes a loud _tch!_ noise and darts around your dithering, right into the street. Mentally, you roll your eyes and follow, closing the door behind you. You follow your sibling down the street, hands in your pockets hoping that their determination isn't leading you further into danger. It’s much less bitingly cold in the middle of the morning, you notice, pulling off your hood to better look around. Every house is only as large as it needs to be, well maintained, and highly decorated. Frisk leads you past the intersection to the ice house, nearly back into Snowdin forest.

 

The Snowdin shop is like an extremely disorganized closet. Some stuff is up on hangers, some is in half-packed boxes and everything else seems to be in random piles. Non clothes items are spread out on shelves, sometimes ordered by color and other times ordered by a weird, unfathomable divine pattern.

 

Without fear, Frisk dives in right away and comes up with a puzzle; the kind where one has to separate the objects without breaking them. Whenever your parents went away, they would bring back little gift shop trinkets like this. Frisk must have solved hundreds of them. You turn your face away quickly and start picking through clothes, looking for something that will suit your small frame.

 

 **So I’m going out with Sans tonight** , you sign casually when Frisk takes a break from yanking on the two pieces of the puzzle. When you sign, no one can hear your voice shake.

 

**I know. He told me this morning.**

 

 **Oh,** you return, mildly surprised. **Well, good.**

 

 **He’s cool, you’ll have fun.** They return to fiercely tugging and twisting. You look at your youngest family member and wonder when they got so mature. Not that long ago, they would have pitched a crying fit over anyone ‘coming to take you away.’ Those shorts they’re wearing are so old. They’re supposed to come down to the knee, but they miss by a mile and there are fraying threads poking out everywhere. You feel guilty about wanting to get something for yourself when they sweater they’re wearing has been passed down through the years all the way from you to them.

 

 **Hey,** you wave to distract them from the puzzle. **Maybe we should get you something to wear. Something that fits?** You pluck at the sleeve of the age-thinned garment and make a sarcastic face.

 

Frisk smiles, but rolls their eyes and waves your hand away. **Oh my frog, just go get a stupid dress. Sans likes blue.**

 

Not for the first time, something about how Frisk answers makes you hesitate. The both of you have only been here for… either two or three days, depending on when they followed you. Why are they talking about Sans like they know him quite personally?

 

“Can I help you find something?” asks a dry voice behind you.

 

A bunny monster stands with arms folded, eyeballing the clothes you’ve moved as well as the hideous aqua dress hanging limply in the crook of your elbow. Clearly this is the master organizer of the shop and they are less than thrilled about your searching technique. You drop the offensive garment and turn to Frisk, who is smirking at your embarrassment.

 

 **Go pick out some breakfast food,** you sign, then add after a moment’s thought, **And something interesting you can make for dinner.** Frisk skips away, the locked key puzzle jingling merrily in one hand.

 

“Uh, yes, please,” you finally answer. “I need… something for a date.”

 

The monster and you go through most of the boxes of clothes. She’s pretty cool about moving things that are heavy or reaching things on the top shelf. Together, you find several things that definitely won’t work, a handful of things that might, and one nice dress that’s probably about the closest you’ll get, though it hangs off you. _Clearly this dress was meant for a person of average height_ , you think grumpily.

 

The shopkeeper smiles and tugs the hem so it at least hangs straight. “Don’t worry,” she says kindly, “It’s easy to take in and re-hem. It should only take 20 minutes.” You can’t bring yourself to tell her you know nothing about sewing, but accept a needle and thread from her anyway along with the dress, Frisk’s puzzle, and some kitchen staples.

 

 _It’s clear which items are in short supply_ , you think while counting out the gold for your purchases. The dress is actually the least expensive. You suppose this might be because clothes don’t expire whereas even canned and dried foods have a due date. Either way, your face falls when you count the gold twice. You turn to look at Frisk to deliver the bad news and notice that about half the items are missing from the counter now. They are staring a different direction, obviously signing to themselves and pretending not to see your suspicious expression. You bite your lip and hitch a smile on your face.

 

“I’m sorry,” you start, “I guess my eyes were bigger than my wallet...”

 

She is having none of it. “You’re with the skeleton brothers, right? I thought they looked better washed than normal. Look, they kinda showed up out of the blue and… asserted themselves, but we like them around here. They’re helpful. Friendly-like.” She shrugs and puts your things in a mesh bag. “Take it. No charge. Just… show Sans a good time.” She winks and over your copious thanks, waves you out the shop.

 

xXx

 

Today, you learned something very important.

 

You HATE sewing and you are NO GOOD at it.

 

You’ve taken a perfectly serviceable dark blue dress with floaty-type sleeves that you like and TOTALLY RUINED IT. You only wanted to take in the waist a smidge and fix the hem in a few places, but now it hangs off you crookedly and pinches your hip fat in a way that you don’t like. How can you be so bad at this?

 

You throw the dress, needle, and thread to the other side of the couch and sulk with your magic book for a long time. Frisk bustles happily through the kitchen, ignoring your petulance because they know it needles you to be surrounded by sunshine in such a state. A plate of steaming scrambled eggs sits spitefully ignored on the end table.

 

The day passes much like this, in a little passive-aggressive contest that turns silly as your frustration bleeds away. Frisk leaves a drink just out of reach. You begin to read and sign aloud and stop halfway through a sentence. Frisk puts a movie on the TV, then promptly leaves. You get Frisk a glass of water and put it on the top of a bookshelf. It devolves from there, stacking pillows on top of one another and putting pointy objects in abandoned shoes.

 

You feel a little better after playing the same kinds of games you played back home when, just after lunch time, Papyrus comes home like a freight train.

 

“HUMANS! THE GREAT PAPYRUS HAS RETURNED TO PREPARE YOU FOR YOUR DATE WITH MY BROTHER~!” The front door bangs shut behind him, a loud punctuation to his statement. He stands in the living room with brightly shining eyes and hands proudly planted on his hips. “I HAVE BORROWED THIS DATING BOOK FROM THE LIBRARBY, WHICH WILL ENSURE THAT YOU AND HE HAVE THE GREATEST TIME POSSIBLE!”

 

It’s hard not to feel excited, but when you retrieve your sad dress from the couch, you feel your heart sink a little. “Papyrus, I can’t sew. I really like this dress, but it’s too big for me. Can you help?”

 

He looks like it’s Christmastime and you’ve handed him the reins of Santa’s sleigh. “OF COURSE!” He snatches the dress from your hands, grabs your entire arm and hauls you upstairs to his bedroom. You sit on the edge of the racecar bed and watch with interest as Papyrus darts into the closet to retrieve a heavy red box. He delicately moves some action figures (you notice that they’ve all been painted to resemble skeletons) and sets the case on the table to reverently remove the outside shell.

 

Inside is the oldest sewing machine you’ve ever seen. It’s pitted and dinged. The spool stick is bent. It looks like something that you’d want to dangle out a window to drop on a cartoon character, but Papyrus’s eyes glow when he looks at it like it’s his most precious possession. He turns abruptly in his computer chair, dragged over for the task at hand, and is all business.

 

“STAND UP!” he chirps and produces a measuring tape from the box. With all the efficiency of an expert tailor, he takes all your measurements and pins the dress. “WE CAN MAKE THIS WOOOOORK!”

 

Before you know it, he’s holding it out to you and pointing imperiously to the bathroom. You shyly take it and slip it on. It takes a moment for you to find the courage to look up. Last time you really saw yourself, you were covered in dirt and bruises. Not a pretty picture.

 

“ARE YOU OK?” Papyrus asks nervously from the other side of the door. You feel you owe it to him to look and you finally raise your eyes to the figure in the mirror.

 

“Oh… wow…”

 

The dress is a dark, rich blue, contrasting with your dark waves of hair and pale, indoorsey skin. Before, it looked like a limply hanging sack, but now it hugs soft curves and clings to your arms and legs in a way that makes you feel like a movie star. _Or a least a really expensive hooker_ , you amend noticing that the neckline is at least 2 inches lower than before.

 

There is then a knock on the door that’s meant to be inquisitive, but sounds a little like a cannon going off in the tiny, tiled toilet, so you turn around and open the door to let Papyrus see his handiwork.

 

“EXCELLENT! IT SHOWS OFF YOUR FLESHY HUMAN PHYSIQUE AS INTENDED!” You suppose this is a compliment as he takes one of your hands so you can twirl for him. He examines the dress critically, then waves down the hall for Frisk. “WHAT DO YOU THINK? YOU KNOW WHICH HUMAN PARTS ARE BETTER THAN OTHERS. I THINK IT SHOULD SAY ‘COOLGURL’ ON THE FRONT!”

 

You give Papyrus a look that vetoes that idea in no uncertain terms, then look to Frisk.

 

Frisk looks you over, taking in your nervously shuffling feet, your habitual lip biting, and your twisting fingers and gives you a thumbs up. **I’m not sure what skeletons like, but I think you’re pretty.**

 

 **Thanks, stink-butt,** you sign, grinning.

 

“LET’S TAKE CARE OF THE REST OF IT, NYEH HEH HEH!”

 

“The… rest of it?”

 

You are whisked back into the bedroom where Papyrus pulls a new red box from the closet, this one full of paint, powders, and brushes.

 

“That isn’t… model paint, is it?”

 

“NOT ALL OF IT!” The tall skeleton begins to rifle through his supplies and lay out brushes.

 

Frisk sidles in and perches on the table, pushing your long hair out of the way so they can find the brightest, most garish colors in the box and hold them out to Papyrus. Papyrus insists that you aren’t allowed to look until he’s finished and fusses at you when you giggle and sneeze as the brushes tickle your eyes and ears.

 

“HOLD STILL!”

 

“ _Snrk_ … sorry.”

 

After your face is set with powder, Frisk and Papyrus produce several hair products all bearing the letters MTT. Among the brushes, curlers, and strangely shaped combs, a sinister pair of scissors appears in easy reach that you eyeball fiercely. Frisk grins and flaps their fore and middle fingers on their own hair, clearly a warning to behave.

 

“SIT HERE AND LEAN THE CHAIR BACK! THE GREAT PAPYRUS WILL TAKE CARE OF YOUR MANY PROTEIN STRANDS!”

 

Does he practice complicated ways to describe things? Is that his motivation to get up in the morning? Still, it’s rather nice feeling skeleton fingers untangle your hair and comb sweet smelling goop onto your scalp. Feels like a good scratch and a massage all at once. You let yourself be groomed quite amiably, nearly falling asleep at several points. You are pleased to note that the threatening scissors stay on the table, untouched.

 

When Papyrus seems finished, he and Frisk hold a conference, partly in quiet-ish shouts and partly in one-handed signs. Though you are nervous, you are still amazed that they seem to have no problem understanding each other. Frisk is holding a hand mirror out to you. You only hesitate a moment before seizing it and looking at yourself.

 

It’s definitely you… but more so in every way. Your eyes are darker, deeper… your hair is shinier and more voluminous… the tones of your skin seem brighter and smoother. Based on the feeling of Papyrus working on you, you were expecting something like a Russian mail order bride, but this is shockingly tasteful and… desirable.

 

“Where… where did you learn to do this?”

 

Papyrus beams with pride. “I’VE BEEN WATCHING PROGRAMS AND EXPERIMENTING FOR YEARS! I’M EXCITED TO TRY OUT MY SUPERIOR TECHNIQUES ON ANOTHER PERSON!”

 

A sudden mental image races through your mind’s eye of Papyrus with electric green eyeshadow and crooked false lashes stuck on with sparkling glitter glue. You think this is an unlikely scenario and say instead, “It’s really, really good, Paps.”

 

“NYEH HEH HEH!” His bones rattle in celebration, sort of like a shakey happy dance, then he suddenly holds his hands up flat to indicate serious talk. “YOU NEED TO STAY UP HERE UNTIL AFTER MY BROTHER RETURNS FROM WORK. FRISK WILL MAKE SURE HE WEARS THE CLOTHES WE PICKED OUT EARLIER AND WHEN I GIVE THE SIGNAL, YOU COME DOWN THE STAIRS!”

 

You salute to indicate compliance just as the front door opens downstairs. Was this perfectly timed or what?

 

“WAIT RIGHT THERE!” screeches Papyrus and rushes out, Frisk hot on his heels.

 

You realize that you have no idea what the signal is.

 

You busy yourself looking at the many dozen action figures now standing close together at the back of Papyrus’ work table. The costumes are elaborate, showing fashion styles from many different decades and all in brilliant, nearly eye-watering colors. You recognize a few action figures from your childhood but mostly, the original characters are obscured by their fantastic makeovers.

 

When you look really closely you see that the skeleton faces all have different expressions. A particularly captivating one wears a blue costume with oversized boots. Its eyes are drawn together in a worried, pinched expression and holds its own arms directly over where a heart would be. It looks vulnerable and lost.

 

“AHEM… SIGNAL!!!!”

 

 _Shit!_ You quickly put the figure back and smooth your dress. Heart fluttering in your throat, you open the door and try not to trip down the stairs.

 

The first thing you see is Sans. He is standing in the middle of the living room in a set of clothing that looks very unfamiliar to him; a blue blazer jacket, full length black slacks and proper shoes. He’s rolled up the sleeves to expose the thick white bones of his arms, but there’s still a feeling of discomfort that he’s trying to explain to his high-strung brother. From the couch, Frisk spots you and, getting the brothers’ attention, points to you. They both turn.

 

Papyrus’ eyes shine brightly above his clasped hands. You wonder if this is what prom feels like. Is he going to insist that Sans pin a corsage to your chest and pull out a camera to take pictures? Then again, it might be worth it for the wide-eyed expression Sans is wearing. It’s like his dancing eyes can’t decide what to look at, your feet descending the stairs, the swish of fabric around your hips, or the smiling face looking back at him. You decide that the blazer makes his chest look broader than normal, not to mention the look of polished bone exposed from the sleeves. You feel yourself blush, matching the blue creeping up on his cheekbones.

 

Eventually, he recovers and smiles more genuinely than you’ve seen, even taking your hand at the bottom step.

 

“paps insisted that i give you this,” Sans reaches one hand into his blazer pocket and with a twinkle of blue, pulls out an impossibly long femur. “for you, mademoiselle,” he extends it to you with a flourish.

 

“Oh!” you say loudly for Papyrus’ benefit. “Just what I wanted!” You are forced to actually bite your lip to keep from adding, _a long, hard bone is what I’ve been wanting for a long time._

 

Sans smirks like he knows _exactly_ what you didn’t say. You pretend not to notice and graciously accept his… offering, depositing it immediately on the end table and taking his arm instead.

 

“don’t wait up” he drawls over his shoulder and sweeps you out the door with a hearty wink.

 

 **Bye, Frisk! Behave yourself! Don’t stay up too late!** The signs fall from your fingers as the front door swings shut.

 

Frisk nods and signs back, **Good luck!**


	10. And it was all Teal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hello extra long chapter! Sans takes you to his favorite place in the underground. Shenanigans, nerdery, and learning about each other ensue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh god, I’m a teacher. Can you tell? You will in a minute.
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RH3X-LLY66Y (We’re going old school with this one.)
> 
> For extra fun, take a shot every time someone says 'yeah.'

You and your bony beau promenade down the main street of Snowdin, talking about nothing in particular. Even though you can’t even remember the last date you went on, you’re sure it didn’t start out like this. Sans seems perfectly at ease, with one arm crooked for you to hold and the other in the pocket of his slacks while he chats comfortably about his lonely day at the sentry station. You feel awkward at first, but soon realize that the only difference between this conversation with Sans and others is that you are both wearing fancy clothes. From that point, your words come easily, talking about shopping with Frisk and interesting parts of the book on magic you borrowed from the librarby.

 

The warm glow of Grillby’s looms ahead, your expected destination, but he suddenly steers you  down another street, towards the ice house.

 

“Where are we going?” you say, peering ahead with interest.

 

“someplace i think you’ll really like,” he answers, grinning sidelong at you. “there’s no place like it in the whole underground.”

 

“Oh yeah? Where?”

 

“you’ll see.”

  
You scoff with a theatrical hand gesture. “ _Pffft!_ Secrets…”

 

Sans’ eyelights roll and he guides you around a rock hidden in the snow. “hey, where did you learn to act like that? it’s not often paps has such an… enthusiastic playmate.”

 

You ignore the feeling that he’s ribbing you and answer anyway. “Oh, it’s nothing really. I took some drama classes in high school.” Sans looks like he doesn’t really understand what that means, so you start explaining the public school system. With its many paths to graduation and exceptions to rules, this turns out to be a more difficult explanation that first anticipated, but Sans is fascinated. He’s particularly interested in the concept that the education system is a vast tree that orders subjects by a mysterious hierarchy (“but not all knowledge stems from the same source!” he points out), so you launch into a diatribe about all the problems with the current system. You’re just getting into a really scathing condemnation of the lack of flexibility in programs of study… until you realize that you’ve stopped walking.

 

Before you is a cold, dark river, in which floats a long, wooden gondola with a cat’s face. In the bow stands a robed figure, humming placidly to themselves. No face is visible in the dark of the hood. It’s a spooky sight that gives you gooseflesh, but you bravely decide to push past it in the interest of manners.

 

“Er, hello,” you say to the figure, a little embarrassed by your impassioned rant only moments before.

 

Sans’ eyes are twinkling with mirth. “riverperson, ________. ________, riverperson.”

 

The dark hood inclines their head to you. “Tra la la. Dancing on a boat is danger. But good exercise…”

 

You feel your mouth open but no sound comes out. What can you even say to that?

 

Sans politely doesn’t laugh and instead takes your hands to help you into the boat. It’s not wide enough for you to sit side by side, so he sits directly behind you, his knees settling on either side of your legs, which allows you to lean back into his solid chest, blushing furiously from the closeness.

 

“you know where to go, friend,” Sans says over your head. His entire chest rumbles with his smooth baritone voice. You completely forget your embarrassment and press your cheek into the dip of his clavicle. When the mysterious gondolier is satisfied that you are both safely seated (you guess), the boat departs without any visible means of propelling itself. You peer into the water curiously thinking that maybe you can see a propellor or a team of underwater monsters pulling it along, but like everything else, you can only suppose that it works by… magic.

 

A gleaming white hand dips into the water as you watch, bringing up a trail of shining ripples in its wake. The boat’s ride is so smooth that you hadn’t realized how quickly it’s going, but it’s obviously gliding at a tremendous speed judging by the height of the water after Sans’ phalanges. Suddenly… his hand curls and darts out of the water, flicking you with freezing droplets.

 

“Sans!” you splutter, trying to get the water off without ruining Papyrus’ work on your makeup. “What was that for?”

 

He just laughs his rumbling laugh behind you, clapping his damp hand to his forehead. Clearly he thinks he is the height of pranking. You narrow your eyes and reach both hands into the river, preparing to scoop out a whole bunch of water to fling at him. Your hands fly through the air, loosing your liquid ammunition, but then there is a twinkle of blue and the deluge of water is redirected back on you.

 

“AAAAACK!”

 

Sans is beside himself with mirth. It is only due to the magical skill of Riverperson that he isn’t dumped out the side of the boat with his rolling laughter. You sit indignantly with folded arms.

 

“Are you quite finished?”

 

“i’m sorry, babe… that was so good… the look on your face!”

 

You huff like a teased cat, but then his bright eyelights soften on your face and he tenderly brushes his knuckles against your burning cheek. “sorry... a bit.”

 

The frown on your face drops away at once. _He called me ‘babe,’_ you think with a little flutter, leaning back into his solid, warm body, totally relaxed. He seems surprised by this at first, but adjusts quickly, and soon he is twisting strands of your hair in his fingers. You feel yourself slip into a kind of daze, just feeling the sensation of gentle tugging on your scalp coupled with the slow rise and fall of the monster’s chest. It’s nice enough to gentle you into sleep if you weren’t so excited about the secret location of your date. Your eyes close...

 

Several blissful minutes later, Sans brushes his knuckles on your cheek again and whispers, “look.”

 

With a little whimper of complaint, you sit up to see that the environment has changed totally. There is no snow or ice anymore and the cavern walls are darker here; a different kind of stone. Best of all, the cavern walls, the surface of the water, and everything in reach is glowing a soft teal.

 

“Is the water… luminescent?” you say eagerly. A quick inspection over the side of the boat confirms this theory. “Oh, wow! It is! That’s so cool!” You immediately start prattling at top nerd speed about all the ways plants, crystals, and water could be safely or toxically luminescent on the surface and Sans just sits back to watch you explode with enthusiasm, nodding and agreeing frequently. You start listing off all the bacteria you know that could cause similar reactions with different substances in natural lakes, and then he counters by explaining the different ways magic can be used to create such an effect.

 

It turns out that magic use is only limited by the power and imagination of the monster using it, according to Sans. Trying to keep up on your fingers, he lists 24 methods of creating luminescent water in only about a minute, hardly pausing to think deeply about it. You feel as though there is a vast repository of information that you are just barely spying through the keyhole of a closed door… and it makes you want more. Right away you start questioning him about anything and everything. Where does the magic come from? Are all monsters born with it? Are there studies on how the body reacts to certain magical stimuli?

 

In your experience, such questioning shuts down a conversation with a shrug or an ‘I dunno, let’s talk about something else,’ but not with Sans. He laughs and answers your questions just as fast as you can think of them, guessing and sharing his theories when he doesn’t exactly know the answers, and gesturing meaningfully with an explanation when he does. His hands are just as expressive as his voice and you find yourself staring at his fingertips drawing invisible diagrams in the air. It’s so fascinating and so absorbing that neither of you notice when the boat gently bumps against a dock and Riverperson has to hum louder to break your tunnelvision.

 

“Tra la la. Eat a mushroom everyday. Why? Then I know you're listening to me…”

 

You and Sans look away guiltily. “Sorry, Riverperson,” you say, carefully standing. “We didn’t mean to keep you waiting.”

 

The hooded figure doesn’t acknowledge your apology. They have already returned to their song and when you are both standing on the drifting pier, they depart without another word.

 

You stand looking after them for a while, then feel a giggle welling up. You bite your lip to keep it down and look quickly to Sans to see whether he’s noticed.

 

He looks sidelong at you and says a little sheepishly, “i didn’t mean to get us into _truffle_.”

 

That does it. You laugh explosively, releasing the awkward feeling of not knowing what to say, until you double over, holding your sides.

 

“oh, you like that? there’s _morel_ where that came from.”

 

“No!” you wheeze, stamping one foot on the wobbly pier. “No! I can’t… breathe!”

 

He shrugs and flashes you a dazzling smile. “what can i say? i’m a pretty _fungi._ ”

 

You laugh until your face hurts from smiling, until your ribs ache, until your cheeks are wet with tears. At some point, Sans’ arms wrap around you to keep you from falling backwards into the river, and when you can finally look at him without immediately beginning to laugh again, he could not be more pleased with himself. You let him keep holding you, wanting to be very certain that you’re ready to take responsibility for your shaking knees.

 

“are you ok?” he says, “are you gonna make it?”

 

You take an exaggerated breath, steady yourself by grasping his shoulders and confidently say, “Yes. Yes, I think I’m ok now.”

 

“good. we’ve got a little walk ahead.”

 

It’s nice how you don’t have to stand on tiptoe to make your lips reach his cheek. You press a very light kiss to the corner of his smile. “Lead the way,” you command.

 

Face glowing light blue, he crooks his arm for you to take again and sets off through the dark caverns. The way feels cramped after the openness of Snowdin and its forest. There is no pretending you are on the surface; here, it’s all cave. Little clumps of glowing fungi light up the tunnels, but it’s not quite enough to completely illuminate each outcropping of rocks. You are very glad not to be here alone, you think, unconsciously gripping Sans’ arm more tightly. He squeezes your hand to his side in response.

 

“How do you know so much about magic?” you ask. “Is it just because you can use it, or is it something you learn in school down here?”

 

“hm.” His thick jawbone swings back and forth while he decides how to answer you. “i _do_ know a lot because of my… talent, but i’ve also had a long time to experiment.”

 

You feel like he’s not just talking about his age, but you aren’t sure how to ask about it. “School?” you prompt, kicking a little rock far into the distance. It clatters and echoes thinly.

 

“hm,” he says again, then answers slowly. “i studied magic a lot in my old job. i was an assistant in the royal lab.”

 

“That sounds really cool!”

 

“it was… sometimes. i’m happy at the sentry station. it’s a lot quieter.”

 

“Oh.” He sounds really uncomfortable talking about it, but you valiantly try once more. “Did Papyrus work at the lab, too?”

 

“...not exactly.” He tilts his head to one side, eyelights unfocused on the path ahead. “it’s a little complicated, but paps was just a babybones when i was at the lab. it wasn’t until he was full grown that we moved to snowdin. he went out right away and got us work with the royal guards.” Sans looks sideways at you. “he was in love with the idea of protecting monsterkind, you see. undyne wasn’t going to let him work with them at all, but he camped out at her house every night for… must have been almost a month.” Sans smiles widely. “no one can resist my brother’s persistence, so she let him have the patrol job and he got me the sentry position. we’ve been there ever since.”

 

Dark stalactites drip little raindrops on your bare shoulders making you to start a little. “I’m glad it worked out,” you say sincerely. There is a chill in the air carrying the scent of water. A quick glance up rewards your face with a whole bunch of fat raindrops. “Is it raining? Inside?” you ask unnecessarily.

 

“yeah, that happens sometimes. here are the ‘brellas.” There, tucked in a corner of the wall, was a whole bucket of umbrellas. Sans took the most lurid pink of them all and opened it over you both. It wasn’t very big, so in order to fit, you had to stand close enough to rub shoulders with every step. After much bumping into each other and giggling, Sans threw his arm over your shoulders and quipped, “we make a good _parasol._ ”

 

“Are you just trying to make up for the pun pub battle?”

 

“i have a title to regain. it’s my honor on the line.” His smile is more relaxed. The joking seems to have dissipated the tension from before.

 

You giggle. “I guess I’ll have to be on my guard. Hey, what’s that?”

 

At first, it looks like a rock in the corridor, but upon approaching, the dark shape is clearly carved into something. Without thinking, you dart ahead to see more closely and get soaked by cave rain almost right away. It’s a statue of a sitting figure in a draping robe that obscures not only the shape of its body, but also its face. You peer into the hood like you wanted to do with Riverperson, but still can’t make out any details. Even so, this statue feels… warm and familiar. A pleasant, tinkling melody can be heard deep in the rock, sort of like a music box, but it’s so quiet…

 

“Look!” you exclaim excitedly, turning to Sans, “It’s a statue that plays music!”

 

Sans noticed. Sans also notices you. Wet. Dripping with water. Water making rivulets into the plunging neckline of your dress, judging by his intensely focused eyes and rising color. You bite your lip and decide to make the most of the moment. You clasp your hands in your lap and squeeze your arms together; an old trick in the book that lifts your breasts into greater prominence. He gets a wide eyeful for a moment, then his eyes flick to your face with an expression that tells you he knows what you’re up to.

 

Slowly, he steps closer and holds out the umbrella so that it shields you and the statue. Behind you, the music rings out louder, like a beautiful lullaby. Before you stands Sans, looking down at you on your knees with your face upturned. Neither of you can seem to speak. You know your heart is beating so fast it could take off, right out of your chest. His eyes are so intense.

 

Right as you fear your soul is going to burst out, Sans holds out his hand. “you’ll catch your death of cold.” Shakily, you take it to stand and he hands you the umbrella so that he can shrug off his blazer. He wraps it securely around you, still gazing into your eyes. “there.” He leans closer until you can feel each other’s warm breath. “i hope you’re having a good time so far…”

 

All you can do is nod, trying not to hope so loudly that he’ll hear you wanting to feel his magical lips again. There’s a familiar twitch in his eye then…

 

“great! we’re almost to the first stop. you coming?” Sans walks away down the corridor, swinging his arms jauntily and letting the rain pelt his white dress shirt.

 

 _You sonova…_ That’s how it’s going to be, is it? You briefly think to yourself that this is what you get for teasing him, but you savagely bury that train of thought. He will not get the last word on this! You sprint after him, ignoring the burning heat in your body.

 

He takes you to a specific small cavern in which there is an ice cream cart and a blue monster with long ears. After you deposit the umbrella in another convenient bucket, the monster perks up right away and explains in loving detail that what he sells is _nice_ cream. Sans shows you his, which has a cheery compliment written in the wrapper: You are amazing! You take one eagerly and read yours: Your smile lights up a room!

 

An unspoken truce is reached between you while you thank the excitable monster and eat your nice cream in his presence, but once you leave the tiny cavern, it’s obvious that the game is afoot. Sans rumbles deeply while eating, a sound that sends tremors through your bones. You, especially after seeing that your nice cream is a familiar shade of blue, up the ante with some highly suggestive techniques for licking your frozen treat. He slides his hand around your waist, letting you feel the cold of his fingers, so you lean against him and sigh breathily. When you return his blazer, you let your fingers play across his broad chest, so he fixes a strand of your hair, allowing his thumb to trail across the sensitive hollow of your throat.

 

You continue on in this manner for some time, teasing each other in a game of naughty chicken. Sans’ skull sports small beads of sweat with the effort of keeping cool, a fact that makes you a little smug as you walk through the underground. Each time you start to think that you should give him a break, he’ll touch you, or lean close to you, murmuring softly so only you can hear, and the fire flares up in your blood again.

 

Ahead, you see an opportunity. There’s a glittering rock ahead and an evil plan forms quickly in your mind. You sprint ahead, ready to lean over and pick up the pebble and provide an excellent view of your hindquarters… but then suddenly stop.

 

You are standing in water. And the water is glowing, but the water isn’t the _source_ of the glow.

 

Curiously, you look around everywhere… then finally up at the cavern ceiling.

 

“Oh, wow…” Above is an astonishing sight. Hundreds of sparkling lights glitter high away in the cave, blue and purple, pink and nearly white. “It looks like the stars!” you breathe, turning your head in an impossible attempt to see them all at once. It’s so beautiful. You try to find constellations like you would on the surface, but nothing recognizable appears. You wonder whether the monsters have made up names for particular formations.

 

Quickly, you back out of the water and step out of your poor, wet boots (in the anticipation of the date, neither you nor Papyrus remembered to choose appropriate footwear). You tie the laces in a knot and hold onto them so you can freely step back into the cool, clear water. The water is not very deep, only to your knees, but it’s enough to catch the hem of your skirt and drag it along behind you, making you feel like a mermaid. Several minutes are spent swishing back and forth, just enjoying the feeling.

 

From the corner of your eye, you catch movement and turn to look. Sans is holding his jacket folded over one arm. He is bathed in soft light from the glowing crystals overhead, but that’s not what he’s looking at. His bright, twinkling eyelights are watching you. He is watching you play in the water, he is looking at the colors swim over your face and shining hair... and he is thinking about how beautiful you are right now.

 

You feel yourself smile (how could you do anything else?) and you hold out your hand.

 

After a moment, he smiles back. He also steps out of his shoes, but they disappear from his hands immediately with a little _pop_. You are certain they just dropped on the floor of his room back in Snowdin, which is when you notice that yours have also vanished. He rolls up his pant legs a little, then takes your hand and steps in the water. Together, you wade slowly further into the cavern.

 

“I remember we went stargazing once,” you say, suddenly, having just thought of it. “We were road-tripping through Wyoming. It’s really empty there, with lots of beautiful mountains, but not many people… hardly any lights. We pulled over and looked out. We could see thousands and thousands of stars, more than I knew existed. Even with a full moon, you could see the Milky Way: a twisting ribbon of stars like a river through the sky. We lay down in the truck bed and just looked. I think the twins were toddlers then, and I must have been… oh… 8 or 9. A little older than Frisk. I wanted to just fall _up_ into the night.”

 

You sigh and raise your arms like you’re thinking of floating off like your younger self. Sans watches you with a fond grin. “tell me more about your family.”

 

“Well, you already know about Frisk, the youngest,” you start, letting him lead you through the water while you think. “Just older than Frisk are the twins; Reuben and Leah. They’re both pretty quiet, but smart. They are in middle school now and all in honors classes together. It must be rough on their teacher, they can’t stand to be separated. I had to talk to the school to convince them to be in the same class.”

 

“is it uncommon for family to be together in school?”

 

“Usually, yeah. I think schools like to put siblings in different classes to help them develop different personalities… or to keep family issues out of the classroom. Not sure.”

 

“hm.” You both briefly come out of the water on a little sandbar-like patch of high ground, then step back in almost right away.

 

“Then, there’s my middle sister. Kara’s the loudest of everyone. She likes anything that makes noise, loud cartoons, loud instruments… we fought a lot growing up. Loudly. Rebecca is the closest to me… she’s just a few years younger than me. She’s… she’s about to graduate from high school…” You feel the rest of the words stick in your throat.

 

Sans squeezes your hand. “i get it. after we moved to snowdin, it was just paps and i. it’s been that way for a long time and it’s hard to feel like… like they don’t need you anymore.”

 

You nod. An amiable silence in the conversation falls broken only by the quiet splashing of your feet. The water eventually turns to soft, springy dirt, but the glow of the crystals doesn’t dim.  You find yourself just watching them go by overhead, fascinated by the swirling shapes they make. Sans stops, making you bump into him and notice where you are.

 

You are on the far end of the cavern. It’s darker here, but there are soft yellow wisps floating through the air, rather like insensate fireflies. On several little mounds of earth above the waterline are some curious flowers. Like everything in this environment, they glow a quiet teal.

 

“What’s that?” you ask, leaning closer to look at the flower more closely.

 

 _What’s that?_ it whispers back in your voice.

 

“it’s an echo flower,” says Sans, too quietly to be repeated by the plant, grinning at the surprise on your face. “they repeat whatever they hear, over and over.”

 

“It is magic?”

 

_Is it magic?_

 

“yeah. this is called the wishing room. lots of monsters come here to leave their thoughts, their hopes… messages for each other.”

 

With great interest, you approach the next closest and lean down to listen. It whispers in an unfamiliar voice, high and thin, shaking with feeling. _Hm… seems as if my horoscope is the same as last week’s…_

 

Quickly, you look back to Sans. He nods and gestures to the others. You oblige and listen to more.

 

_So? You don’t have any wishes to make?_

 

_Thousands of people wishing together can’t be wrong! The king will prove that._

 

_Someday, I'd like to climb this mountain we're all buried under._

 

_Standing under the sky, looking at the world all around... That's my wish._

 

_Sorry, it's just funny… That's my wish, too._

 

You sit next to that last flower feeling a growing lump in your throat. You remember talking to Toriel about the barrier, however briefly, and think about how desperately sad it is that there’s a whole group of people underground that have never seen real stars. A whole generation that has to make do with crystals (even beautiful crystals) instead of the natural wonder that you had as a child.

 

Sans sits beside you. “this is one of my favorite places in the underground. it always makes me feel so… connected to this world. sometimes it helps just to know that others out there also have problems and wishes.”

 

He lets you chew on that for a moment. If you’re honest with yourself, it has been a long time since you felt really connected to anyone outside your family. There was just too much happening internally. It feels precious to have a real way to empathize with others and you feel both more vulnerable and stronger than you have since your fall. Impulsively, you crawl over to another flower and whisper earnestly to it. Sans watches you with a raised bonebrow, especially when you get up and wander a little distance away. You watch him out of the corner of your eye, waiting to see whether he moves to listen or not, but you’re pretty sure you know which he’ll do.

 

Sure enough, the curiosity wins out and he leans over to listen intently.

 

_I’m going to help. I wish I could find a way to free the monsters from the underground._

 

A smile blossoms across his porcelain face. He stands and takes your hands. “you wouldn’t be the first to try,” he tells you.

 

You shrug. “Doesn’t matter to me whether it’s hard or not. It’s clearly the thing I should be doing. I’ll do whatever it takes.”

 

Sans can’t think of anything to say to that, so you just walk together for a while until you’ve come back around to the entrance to the wishing room again. “are you about ready to go?”

 

“Yeah. This has been really, really fun, but… I kinda want to be home with you right now.”

  
He winks at you. “i know a shortcut.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DC: Still 5. 
> 
> I think Reader might have a serious case of "inability-to-pay-attention-to-her-goddamn-surroundings."


	11. The Blue Glow (!)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Naughty bits everywhere. Totally skippable if you're here for plot. Which confuses me, but ok, I'm not here to judge.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh boy, I guess you'll be able to tell when there's smut chapters because I take for-friggin'-ever to finish writing them. What can I say? I'm intimidated by ecto-boners. Enjoy.

Seeing the Crystals for the First Time/ Adorkable 

by your author                                     by http://ducksofdarfur.tumblr.com/

 

Your second teleportation is no less disorienting than the first. You struggle to keep your eyes open, hoping to see something in the inky darkness, but the unrelenting pressure on your entire body is too much. Sans’ chest is clearly the best refuge in such cases. He wraps an arm around you to keep you steady until the pressure evaporates as suddenly as it came. You pluck up the nerve to peek out from the safety of his bones and see a familiar kitchen. All lights in the house are off, casting dark shadows that make you shiver.

 

Sans pointedly looks at your hands grasping his shirt and winks. Light suddenly floods the kitchen accompanied by a twinkle of blue in his eye. You smile back and lean close to his ear.

 

“Would you like some…” you pause, then finish in your breathiest voice, “... _tea?_ ”

 

With a little more satisfaction than is healthy (he has gone rigid and forgotten to breathe), you leave his embrace and pull what you need from the cabinets, pointing him towards the wobbly card table (now a permanent fixture in the kitchen). A full kettle goes on the stove, sloshing only a little water overboard. You hope you are hiding the trembling of your hands well enough. Being pressed against him like that in the dark, the heat of his body, the scent of his magic… well, it fills a girl’s head with ideas, doesn’t it? And it’s not exactly like you’re making it all up from scratch, your hands got a pretty good idea a few days ago. Thick bones, sharp teeth… blue p-...

 

Behind you, a chair scrapes, jerking you out of your thoughts. When you can look over your shoulder without flaming pink cheeks, you see that Sans has slung his jacket over the back of his chair, and re-rolled up his sleeves to expose some of those thick bones you were just imagining.

 

“are you still wet?” he asks, meeting your gaze. You arch an eyebrow at him pointedly. “from the rain, i mean,” he clarifies cheekily, eyes twinkling with mischief.

 

You turn away and answer the teapot. “Yes, but I’m warming up.”

 

"i can think of a way to help that along."

 

In order to reach the mugs, you have to stand on tiptoe (being that you lack Sans’ magic ‘easy’ button) but it comes with an unexpected benefit: stretching hikes up your dress. You can almost feel the skeleton’s eyes lock onto the extra few inches of visible thigh. Under the pretense of finding the perfect mugs, you wiggle your bottom, causing the dress’s hem to flutter teasingly, not quite revealing more. You give him a moment to compose himself by pouring hot water, so Sans is able to less-than-smoothly hide his indiscretion when you turn back around, now staring intensely at the refrigerator door as though it did him a personal insult.

 

“Here you are,” you murmur, sliding him a steaming mug. It’s not the golden flower tea this time, but a darkly scented black tea. You eschew sugar in this kind of drink, but a splash of dairy-free creamer doesn’t go amiss. It swirls lazily, lightening the tea a little at a time. Though you miss the ready availability of real dairy products, it’s nice that you can find a substitute for almost anything in the underground. You stir decisively, then slowly lick the excess from the spoon, letting a minute groan of satisfaction leave your lips.

 

Sans puts nothing in his, preferring to sip it through barely-parted teeth. When he’s sure you’re watching, he manifests his glowing blue tongue to lick away any stray droplets. “good tea…” he says in a voice deep enough to be a growl.

 

Your heart beats harder, thinking about how that tongue felt on your skin. Are you two going to sit here and torture each other forever or what? _Why did you suggest tea?_ You want to just _feel_ him already… his teeth, his hands… his rigid glowing member plunging into your moist… _Stop it!_ Your hand shakes badly at this thought and a splash of tea slops on you. “Darn!” you exclaim, putting the mug down too quickly and spilling more.

 

“wait, i’ve got this.” Sans tugs you closer so that both the seats of your chairs touch. Your knees gently rub the insides of his. You can feel his smooth bones, even through slacks. Slowly, his finger bones trail lightly up your arms to take your shoulders. His hands are strong like a vice, not actually hurting you, but letting you know in no uncertain terms that you could not pull away if you tried. He leans you firmly back in the chair and presses his mouth to your neck, nibbling, kissing, and lapping right against your pounding blood vessels. You are sure he can feel how your heart is racing and your breath is hard and desperate. It’s all you can do to stay quiet as blunt fangs explore your skin.

 

Still pressing into you, one of his hands leaves your shoulder and cups a full breast. You bite your lip, conscious of two others sleeping in the house, but also riding the wave of thrilling arousal caused by his searching fingers. Through the material of your dress, his fingers massage and tease you to a breathless, flustered height. Your own hands splay wide on his chest, trying to pull him closer and tell him without words exactly what you want.

 

In the hitch of a breath, Sans’s sweet nibbles become a needy bite. His thick teeth find either side of your collarbone and clamp down, nearly breaking skin. You manage to stifle a shriek of surprise into a quieter, more pointed, cry. You firmly continue to suppress your indecency when Sans applies more pressure, using tongue and teeth to intensify the sensation. It’s almost too much. When you don’t know if you can take it any longer, he pulls away, eye lights bright and focused on your face. You see a sparkling trail of red languidly trickle down your chest, like someone is tracing your skin with a liquid ruby.

 

“I guess you’re not interested much in tea right now, are you?” you say weakly.

 

His eyes do not waver, but his long blue tongue brushes a droplet of red from one pointed tooth. Were they always like that, sharp and vicious? You can’t remember just now...

 

“Yeah…” you breathe, “Me neither.”

 

Sans chuckles and it’s deeper and raspier than usual. One powerful arm lifts you from under your shoulders, and the other sweeps under your legs to hold you close against him. Instinctively, you throw your arms around his neck and settle your face into his neck. There isn’t a part of your body that is not touching his. You are acutely aware of every moving bone, every spark of magic, especially when he carries you up the stairs, but it’s almost too much. Your whole brain only has room for the overwhelming thump of your heart.

 

_Ba-bump… Ba-bump…_

 

You can’t rightly tell if he opens his bedroom door with magic or if the two of you just phase right through it, but either way, here you are now. In the dark. Alone with an amorous skeleton. Again.

 

For a moment, Sans just continues to hold you, observing your disheveled state. He then sets you deftly on your feet and leans towards you.

 

_Ba-bump… Ba-bump…_

 

But doesn’t kiss you. His skull is certainly close enough, but he reaches around instead to the zipper of your dress, which means you are once again in the cage of his arms.

 

“hold still…” he says hardly louder than a whisper.

 

You can’t breathe. It is clearly not a matter of urgency based on how agonizingly slowly he pulls down the zipper. He follows it with his sharp fingertip from the nape of your neck down your sensitive spine to your hips. A quick pull tugs the material over your curves to pool on the ground at your feet. It was the only piece of clothing you were wearing, so now you stand completely unclothed before him.

 

Every inch of your skin shivers with vulnerability. Sans straightens and hooks one thumb into the pockets of his slacks, admiring his handiwork. He takes his time walking in a slow circle around you, brushing your skin with the knuckles of his other hand, appreciating how you shiver and giggle in response. He seems satisfied when he saunters back into your vision, grinning. You have to admit that you were worried your non-monster appearance would be offputting, but he doesn't seem bothered at all.

 

_Ba-bump… Ba-bump…_

 

He looks at your hands, twisting together in front of you, then down at himself, and then quirks a bone brow at you. At your confusion, he performs the gestures again, each with a dramatic roll of the skull until…

 

“Oh!” The lightbulb goes off. “Sure!”

 

Now _you_ cross the dark, empty divide, reaching for Sans’ broad chest. Quickly, in case you lose your nerve, you unbutton his dress shirt and move to pull it off him, but are immediately distracted.

 

“Wow…” you breathe, trying to take in every detail of his body all at once. Each bone solid, so much thicker than human bones. “Look! There aren’t any spaces in your ribcage! You don’t even have floating ribs! They connect all the way to the sternum…” You excitedly stroke the smooth lower edge with your palms, feeling how robust the connections are between each bone when you notice a faint blue glow blooming in the cavity where organs and muscles would normally be. You are alarmed at first and look up to ask Sans is he is ok, but his face is all the answer you need. His eyes are fixed on you with a hungry intensity, cheeks blazing blue, teeth parted and panting. You feel a tricky little smile tweak your lips and you deliberately touch his ribs again, feathering your fingertips in the thinner grooves and tracing little circles on his sternum to swipe your thumb over his xiphoid process, the delicate point of bone that can be lodged into an attacker’s heart to stop them forever. Sans shudders and lets out a strangled moan, his magic gleaming brighter in his eye and now from his very being.

 

You lean forward slowly and press a kiss to his sternum, relishing the catch in his breath, then oh-so-gently trace a little circle on his xiphoid with the tip of your tongue. You feel the bone grow even warmer, then trace a mirroring circle on the inside of the slender bone. At once, Sans’ hands seize your shoulders, but he seems unable to decide whether to pull you closer or push you away. To tease him for his indecision, you nibble on the very point and he groans so deeply that his bones vibrate between your lips. You lean back, giggling and blushing.

 

“Everything about you is so…” it’s hard to decide which word comes next: Beautiful? Fascinating? ...Sexy? You decide to put all those feelings into one, throaty sigh, “Ooooooh…” and kiss him again, now letting your hands drift down to undo his belt. Soon it, and the trousers they supported, fall with an ignored metal clink to the ground. You take a particularly solid magic phallus in your hands. His magic tingles while he rocks into your hands, encouraging you to grip him in both and stroke him slowly.

 

“Ah…” Sans groans, “...more ... _more..._ ”

 

Immediately, you think of his hand reaching out to help you at the raining statue and smile to yourself. You let go of him suddenly and drop to your knees. His eyes go wide when you take him in one hand, then into your mouth.

 

He doesn’t exactly have a taste, or at least, it’s such a subtle taste, you can’t detect it, but just like every time his magic touches you, your mouth and tongue tingle like sucking on a peppermint. You hum with delight and feel his knees rattle. You begin by sucking gently on his tip, but then remember that his anatomy is not exactly analogous to a human’s and feel obligated to explore. Strong sucks... light, feathery flicks of your tongue... gentle, teasing scrapes against your teeth. Sans’ fingers twist in your hair, urging you on. With great enthusiasm, you take him as fully into your mouth as you can, swallowing slowly to increase the warm, wet pressure.

 

“don't stop,” he says harshly, ready to come undone. “don't stop now.” So you don't. You continue to suck, but let one hand wander across his pelvis, encouraging groans from the skeleton as you trace the ridges on the wings and depressions of the wide bone. 

 

"ah!" he cries, grasping your shoulders. Your mouth is flooded with hot magic that tingles intensely, but it doesn't taste like peppermint. It tastes more like blueberry juice, which makes you giggle and snort, but then you stifle your giggles, afraid of hurting Sans' feelings or ruining the mood.

 

He doesn’t look upset. Quite the contrary, actually, he looks like he just weathered a tornado with the calm collection of the one untouched house in the village. You sit back on your heels, hands folded in your lap to let him gather himself back together, and watch him breathe deeply. When he opens his eyes, he looks at you like a creature he has never seen before. Tenderly, he reaches out to cup your cheek in his hand, then moves past your flushed face to thread his fingers in your hair… and _grip_.

 

Instantly, you feel limp and boneless, with a delightful, heady fog filling your mind. You hear a deep, throaty moan and realize it’s you. Without giving you room to stand, Sans uses his intoxicating hold of your hair to direct you across the room. You have no choice, but to follow his pull across the room, unable to look anywhere except down at your aggressive skeleton’s anklebones. He sits on the edge of his mattress and pulls you towards him. You crawl up to sit on the solid femurs you were admiring and prop your legs up so his pelvis is trapped between your thighs. His magic rubs against you, hot and solid, just as ready for you now as a few moments ago.

 

“________,” Sans growls, his bones shaking in a way that makes every inch of your skin flush. “I _need_ you…” You nod and guide his hands across your skin, reminding him how long, lazy strokes make your eyes drift close with pleasure. His rough hands trace the lines of your neck, the delicate knob of your collarbone, down to cup your breasts and pass his thumbs over taut nipples. Each touch sends a burst of fire through your nerves, leaving you whimpering and gasping.

 

Clearly, he decides that he likes the whimpers you make when he touches them, so he ups the ante. Taking one bud between his fingerbones, he rolls and tugs it gently at first, then harder when you don’t tell him to stop. He leans close to the other and mimics the movement with his thick, blunt teeth, pulling and rolling. The sounds you make deepen encouragingly, but a mighty need has been building in him all evening (mostly helped along by your playful teasing and your wiggling in his lap).

 

Still lavishing attention on your nipple, his hand drifts further down, careful to trail his fingertips down your shivering skin the whole way. No breaking the mood tonight. He traces long, sensuous lines across your skin, down your sides and thighs. Delicate trails of white follow his fingers, then fade into pink marks. Your eyes are wide as saucers, watching him with one kiss-reddened lip bitten in anticipation. His eyes briefly flash to your face, waiting.

 

Just barely, you nod.

 

“out loud,” he growls. “keep talking to me.”

 

“Y-yes… yes!”

 

His fingers press deeply into you, scoring real red trails across your beautiful skin. Now your quiet whimper becomes a longing moan, right against his shoulder. It stings, but blossoms into warmth that leave you reeling. You might or might not press harder into his touch pushing your limits, but you both always back off before Sans draws blood. It’s hard to decide whether you are disappointed or not, but there is an immediate distraction in the form of Sans holding you so you are positioned right above his glowing magic dick. Its tip brushes your slick folds apart, but doesn’t enter. Not yet.

 

“what do you want?” This is clearly an unnecessary, time-wasting question. You arch your back deliberately, which rubs your burning sex against him, but he pulls back to prevent access and grins wolfishly. “sorry, didn’t quite get that.”

 

Biting your lip and letting your head fall back adds emphasis as you repeat your gyration slower, but even more firmly. Your juice is now coating Sans’ blue phallus, a further indication of your desire. How could he miss?

 

His eyes take on a serious cast. “keep talking to me. i need to know where you are. we need to be on the same page, here.”

 

Though your brain is clouded with lust, you understand where he’s coming from. He’s trying to keep this a positive experience. Probably smart after your freakout the last time he had you in a… compromising position. You take his face in your hands and pull him in for a deep, firm kiss. Full tongue action. “ _Yes_ ,” you whisper so your lips brush against his teeth. “ _I need you to fuck me… please, Sans… I need to feel you.”_

 

All at once, his hands lift your hips so that the glistening tip of his magical manhood rubs gently against your entrance once more. It feels so thick, you curl your toes in anticipation, then he lowers you onto that thickness, bit by bit. Your fingers dig into the spaces between his shoulders, punctuation to your sharp, needy moans. He stretches you so much it’s nearly unbearable, but he inexorably lowers you until his pelvic bones press right into your ass.

 

For a moment, you just cling to each other, lost in how your bodies feel together. His whole body is glowing electrically. Every pore of you tingles. You feel full to capacity, only just able to handle Sans’ magic. He holds you close, one arm wrapped tightly around your waist, just gently pressing into you. At length, you open your eyes to find him gazing intently at you and you realize that he’s waiting for a response.

 

“ _Please_ …” you whisper again, burying your face in his shoulder to brace yourself. “ _I need you.”_

 

Together, you begin to move. It’s almost unbearable at first, but as his thrusts move more and more, you find yourself completely open to him. Your hands wander everywhere, feeling how his body strives to fill and empty you. He is burning to the touch and soon his bones are slick from exertion.

 

“you’re so warm… and wet…”

 

Your moans of pleasure can’t be contained, no matter how you try. The feeling is too delicious, too right. Everything he does, every movement, every ragged breath, sends you spiraling higher, the coil between your thighs tightening.

 

Suddenly, he releases you, and leans back, propped on his elbows. Right away, you leverage yourself with two hands planted on his broad chest. You make wide hip circles at first, then smaller and faster as you chase the demanding feeling of heat in the center of your pleasure. His eyes are bright and focused, though beads of blue sweat trickle down his skull, chest, arms… He looks enraptured, totally captivated by your euphoric face and swinging breasts.

 

“you’re beautiful.”

 

This simple declaration pushes you over the edge. All at once the tingling in your skin becomes a wave of pleasure coursing through your entire being. You shake and rock, letting it take you down into his arms. Sans helps you ride through it, gently thrusting and kissing your face. After quite a moment, you stop twitching enough to look up at him and return the kisses. You notice sticky blue fluid gluing your thighs to his femurs and wonder when that happened.

 

“welcome back,” teases Sans with half-closed eyes.

 

“Thanks. I hope I wasn’t gone long?”

 

“nah. feel good?”

 

Your limbs feel heavy, in a sleepy, languorous way. Gravity pulls you into a graceless roll off your smug skeleton (who is no longer glowing) and flat on the bed beside him. “Reeeeeeeally good. You?”

 

He makes a low grumble of satisfaction and pulls you close. You prop your head on your arms on top of his broad chest. His eyes are closed and he looks peaceful. If he wasn’t stroking your back, you’d think he was asleep.

 

“You’re sort of right, you know,” you say thoughtfully, drowzing even as you say it.

 

“i know.” His voice is smiling. “...but about what?”

 

“It _is_ hard to feel like your family doesn’t need you anymore… but it’s even harder to feel like they need you… and you can’t do anything about it.”

 

Sans doesn’t answer that. He doesn’t try to tell you that you’re wrong or comfort you with empty words. He doesn’t start to make plans and lists of all the ways you can be helpful.

 

No.

  
He wraps his strong, warm arms around you and holds you close enough to hear his soul thrumming with magic... and love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DC: 5  
> Little DC: 2-3. Depends on who you're askin' about.


	12. How to Get it Done

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You discuss the practicality of breaking down the barrier and an ugly reminder of why it needs to happen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, remember when this story had plot? Pepperidge farm remembers.

The next morning, the bed is empty, but the house clearly is not. Noisy conversation and the sound of clattering dishes float through the closed bedroom door. Though it’s a less than ideal way to wake up, you find that you are smiling. Last night’s bliss is too close at hand to feel bothered by anything. You feel lingering traces of Sans’ magic everywhere on you.

 

You hop out of bed and immediately tread on something soft. Under your toes is the blue dress that Papyrus altered for you. Glancing quickly at the door, you pick it up and hold it close to your face. It smells like cold cave air and makes your nose tingle in a familiar way. You put it carefully on a hanger and then… well, on Sans’ treadmill. It’s a bit strapped for clothing storage choices in here.

 

So it’s back into the canvas skirt and blue blouse for you! Compass in one pocket, flashlight and cellphone in the other. You think about reclipping the canteen to the skirts’ sturdy waist, then shrug and set it on the nightstand instead. You probably won’t need it today.

 

The kitchen downstairs is chaotic as usual. The sound of pots and pans punctuate the sound of something sizzling and constantly running water. Discreetly, you peek around the corner and see the kitchen card table bowing under the weight of an enormous pile of dishes, each loaded with food. Some dishes hold some kind of meat, while several others have piles of fruit. You also see toast, cups with different colored liquids, something fluffy like a pastry, and a couple blackened, burned items. Frisk stands on a chair before the oven as usual while Papyrus’ gangly bones work around and over them, transporting dishes from the oven to the… uh… serving station.

 

“Hey guys,” you say apprehensively, “What’s all the fuss?” but instead of fuss, you sign **_mess_ ** **.**

 

 **Breakfast! And also Lunch!** “BREAKFAST! AND ALSO LUNCH!” say Frisk and Papyrus at the same time.

 

Frowning, you pull out the Nokia from hell and check the time. 1:00 NHT. Is this the new thing? Sleeping in outrageously? Destroying all the living spaces? Why did they have to use every single dish?

 

“Alright,” you say, shrugging and picking a plate that doesn't look burned. You nod with satisfaction when your choice rewards you with edibles. Maybe these two can influence each other to be better cooks. You turn to scarper with your breakfast-and-also-lunch, but Papyrus’ long arm easily grabs your elbow.

 

“NO, NO, HUMAN! STAY AND EAT WITH SANS WHILE WE FINISH!”

 

“Wha?” You look around the kitchen again and fail to see Sans. Just a giant pile of food.

 

A giant pile of food.

 

You stand on tiptoe and finally spy the stout skeleton leaning back and apparently sleeping in the computer chair on the other side of Dish Mountain. He opens one eye and grins at you.

 

“Sup?”

 

“How long have they been cooking?”

 

Sans shrugs and stands up. “quite a long _thyme_.” It seems that the hyperactive atmosphere has had no effect on his casual nature as he strolls smugly out of the kitchen and towards the front door. “are we going to work or what, paps?”

 

Just as this desire for productivity strikes you as being out of character for Sans, his brother interjects. “NONSENSE!” screeches Papyrus, throwing his book on the table. There’s no room, so it bounces off and lands right-side up on the floor. A Beginner’s Guide to Dating, it says. Suddenly a lot more of Papyrus’ behavior makes sense. “IT’S IMPORTANT TO SPEND TIME TOGETHER AFTER A SUCCESSFUL DATE.” He leans down to Frisk and stage-whispers, “It promotes a good relationship!” Frisk agrees with a sage nod.

 

Sans winks at you and changes his outward bound trajectory to the couch. “how can i argue with that?” You suspect he knew this would be the reaction and share in Sans’ smugness for a moment.

 

“What about you two?” you ask, indicating the berserk cooking project that remains ongoing. “It doesn’t seem responsible to _beat it_ while you’re still working.” The kitchen is silent. You give yourself a thumbs up, while Papyrus dutifully ignores you and presses ahead.

 

“FRISK WILL FILL IN FOR SANS TODAY!”

 

“At the sentry station? Watching for danger and humans?”

 

“YES!”

 

Papyrus looks too eager to question, so you turn to Frisk. **Is it safe?**

 

Unsurprisingly, they nod vigorously.   **Absolutely!**

 

You glance at Sans, knowing that Frisk has a famously bad idea of what is safe and what isn’t. Sans squints at you, just below your collarbone. As it has so many times before, you feel like he’s looking right through you and you shiver. Eventually, though, he shrugs and nods. “sounds good. ‘s your call, though.”

 

This is probably as good an endorsement you are likely to get. “Okay. Have fun. I’ll clean up the… dishes, here.”

 

With an ear-splitting whoop, Frisk jumps off the chair and runs out of the kitchen at a dead bolt. Papyrus looks after them a moment, then to you and your still-concerned face. “DON’T WORRY,” he says reassuringly. “IT’S IMPORTANT WORK, BUT WE’RE WELL-EQUIPPED TO HANDLE IT.”

 

You smile fondly. “Go on, then.”

 

With that, he too runs out of the kitchen, bones clattering with excitement. When you turn back, Sans is leaning back in his computer chair, apparently asleep. How’d he get...? _Magical bullshit._

 

The mountain of dishes and food looms on the creaky table, now also burdened with Sans’ bony feet and you sigh; no one to blame but yourself for volunteering to keep house with a lazy host. Maybe you can kill several birds with one stone while the two bundles of energy are out of the house for several hours.

 

First, you turn off the stove and eyeball the soot on the hood. _Tackle that after food is put away._  Speaking of that, it proves to be too much to ask for the monster bachelors to have any tupperware in their pad. In fact, every cupboard seems to be empty now, which you discover by standing on Frisk’s chair to see in the very back. Improvisation time.

 

Obviously, the burned food can be thrown out straight away, which frees up some dishes. About the time that all the charred breakfast remains are all deposited in the sad trashcan, two pairs of arms startle you; short, fleshy ones around your knees, and long, bony ones around your shoulders. You relax into their embrace, even for just a moment. Too long and your eyes will start to mist and there’s too much to do this morning.

 

“Have a great day, you two,” you say instead. You look down at your youngest family member and try to think of something relevant to say, but nothing comes to mind. **Stay out of trouble, stink-butt!**

 

And as quickly and loudly as they came, they are both out the door and down the street, hooting and laughing and you return to trying to get the kitchen (and possibly the rest of the house?) in order.

 

Several clean dishes later, a lazy baritone voice decides to contribute to the morning. “hey, were you serious? last night… with the echo flower?” His bright, shining eye watches you stack empty and refill one half of the unusually tall sink. “‘cause, it’s a big job and i meant it when i said that you wouldn’t be the first one to try.”

 

You remember last night well enough; the beauty of the field of glowing echo flowers, the tragedy of Sans’ story of his people. You remember the heart-wrenching pain of thinking about how very fortunate you were as a child along with the surge of compassion that welled in your very flesh for the monster children that didn’t. You know very well how it feels to long for something out of your reach. The fierce desire to help hadn’t subsided, but a few… concerns have come up in your mind since then.

 

“Yes, but… I don’t know anything. About magic.” You scrub some plates, hoping he doesn’t see how much this bothers you. “Until pretty recently, I thought it was something that s-stupid people believed in.”

 

You wait anxiously, standing in your honesty, and knowing that you’ve revealed something which could be offensive. It’s quiet in the space after your confession, but when you get up the nerve to look at him, Sans doesn’t seem upset. He doesn’t laugh at you or admonish you for your ignorance, he just looks back, two hands stretched behind his head.

 

“well, i’m glad that you can accept a new reality so quickly.” He winks at you, resettling. “that might come in handy if you’re going to study it… and you’ll need to study it if you’re going to deal seriously with the barrier.”

 

His eye sparkles blue, by now a familiar sight, and behind you some newly-emptied bowls levitate toward the counter. Your fascination with his power banishes your feeling of wrong-footedness.

 

“Yes,” you agree decisively. “Yes, I think I’d better learn more about what I’ve decided to do.”

 

A huge grin splits his skull, impressively showing every one of his gleaming white teeth. A brighter spark of blue flashes in his eye and the entire stack of heavy dishes lifts from the table, which groans in relief. In the air, the food separates from the ceramic, organizes itself by type, and then sorts itself into serving bowls. From a pull out drawer flies a tube of plastic wrap that dutifully seals each bowl. When each dish is prepared, a polite line forms at the open refrigerator door, inside which containers of spaghetti move aside to make room for the newcomers. _That’s_ where all the tupperware went.

 

Alongside this domestic ballet, the dirty dishes have made a conga line that dances through the suds, under the hot rinse water and shimmies through a mini-forest of towels. Quicker than you thought possible, the cabinets are filling up with clean stacks, leaving behind a spotless counter.

 

It’s all a bit Beauty and the Beast. Or maybe… The Sword in the Stone. You know the bit well. Your old VHS stretched over the cleaning sequence because the tune was so catchy.

 

Sans is watching your astonished face smugly, but now standing in the midst of it all. “everything we do down here,” he says as a preamble, “everything we make, everything we _are_ … is magic.” He flicks away an errant sponge with an impudent jet of blue jumping from his finger bones. “just like how you humans make everything with your fleshy, temporary bodies in mind, for us, it makes sense to use magic for anything we need. it’s just as much a part of us as your passage through time is a part of you. now, this comes with a lot of advantages.” He gestures to the flying dishes with his jaw, then continues. “that book you checked out probably tells you a bit, but since it’s for monsters, i bet it skips over some fundamental details. why don’t you let me… _fill you in._ ” The last words are murmured in a way that makes you lean in to hear and he cleverly meets you halfway. The hand that isn’t controlling a restaurant’s worth of dishes catches you by the small of the back and pulls you close against him. Without thinking, you press a kiss to his cheekbone and he squeezes you, then lets you go.

 

“for one, magic doesn’t decay like organic matter.” he twirls a lock of your hair between his fingers. “with enough energy, spells and magical objects can last forever, just like our bodies.”

 

“Wait,” you say, your mind reeling. “Are you saying you don’t decay? Like… what, you’re immortal?” _The Magic Within: Unlocking Your Secrets for Personal Success!_ from the librarby didn’t mention this. You now have a mental image of a very, very lazy vampire monster, laying in a coffin and summoning snacks and ketchup with a flash of his eye.

 

He stuffs both hands in his track pockets. “that reaction never _gets old_.” You roll your eyes at the terribleness of that pun, waiting for him to explain more. “we recover from grievous injury with our magic… as long as we have enough magic within ourselves, we can survive almost anything; disease, poison, fatigue, anything. only choosing to make children causes us to age. our magic flows into them, to let them grow.”

 

It follows that if he hasn’t had any children, then he wouldn’t have aged, which led to your assumption that he was relatively close in age to you. You feel a little embarrassed for assuming such, but how could you have known? “How old are you?” you ask.

 

Sans’ smile takes on the cast of a smirk. Again, his eyes dip to just below your collarbone, but you don’t feel as though he’s checking out your cleavage (an impossible feat in this fussy blouse anyway.) It feels like he’s staring _into_ you, into something that beats and flutters at his closeness.

 

“wondering if i’m a cradle robber? i’m old enough.” He winks and shrugs, completely unconcerned. “honestly, you stop counting after a while.”

 

You know you’ll be thinking about this for some time yet. After a minute to let yourself absorb this under his carefully casual gaze, you nod to let him know you’re ready to move on.

 

“for two, it’s easy to be... _flexible_.” He holds up one hand and before your eyes, it appears to grow. Each little bone expands and morphs, alternating between its typical bone-like texture and a wobbling, floppy bone caricature. After a moment, they separate and reform in the air. His wrist is bare now, but encircled by little floating bones like asteroids trailing blue comet tails of magic.

 

“Wow! How are you doing that? I mean...  _magic, obviously,_ but… that’s amazing!”

 

“in order to magically manipulate the world around us, one must understand the properties of the thing they are manipulating. the more you understand, the more complex magic you can do. the university in new home has a strong curriculum in the physical sciences for monsters that want to become adept with their innate talents, but most monsters just stick to the one or two tricks they pick up.” He sounds just like a teacher you used to know. “theoretically, all monsters can become masters of their magic, but like anything else, it takes both aptitude _and_ hard work.”

 

Gingerly, you try to pinch the tail of a knuckle that flies by, but it brazenly rockets away. “Did you study there?”

 

“...no. i’m a little... _unusual_.” The solar system of bones shrink to their proper sizes and rearrange themselves in order back on the bare arm they came from. Sans’ eyes look dimmer than usual. You wonder if performing such elaborate tricks tires him or if there’s another reason hidden away yet. It feels rude to pry.

 

“Can… can humans learn?”

 

Your question pulls him back to the present, eye lights quickly brightening. “that’s a good question. i’ve heard that before the war, monsters and humans would exchange knowledge pretty freely, but since then… our old library was burned down, human spies infiltrated our laboratories and sabotaged many of our efforts… and the barrier was erected, which prevented acquiring new knowledge of the outside world for the past few centuries.” He smiles apologetically. “i don’t know, and i couldn’t even tell you where to look to find out.”

 

“That’s too bad,” you say feeling physically offended at the idea of burning down a library. “Looks like we weren’t much better to you than we were to ourselves.”

 

You share a moment of quiet, just standing together. Over his shoulder, the last few dishes are settling into their cabinet, the leftovers having cleverly tetris’d themselves so that the fridge door can close. Sans has been very forthcoming with information thus far. It feels like a vote of confidence for your plan to free all monsterkind, but learning that there is a problematic lack of information on the subject has placed a stumbling block in your way already.

 

Besides all that, it’s one day closer to the end of the week you planned on spending here with Frisk before returning to the surface. How is that going to fit into your plans?

 

“hey, wait here.” You look up just in time to see Sans disappear with a _pop_ so suddenly it might be a bad jump cut in an old kung fu movie. You realize that you just witnessed firsthand the teleporting magic that you have physically _experienced_ , but not seen yet with your own eyes. You imagined more… sparkles or something.

 

_BANG_

 

Under your feet, there is a loud sound like something large and heavy fell over. You didn’t know this house had a basement! You’re not sure what Sans is up to down there, but it sounds like a real doozy. More to take up time than out of concern for the electricity bill, you turn off the kitchen light and move yourself to the worn down couch. It has been well molded into comfortable sitting and lounging shapes, so you take advantage. Looking at the popcorn ceiling helps you think.

 

You’re considering how to fit magical education into your half-a-week left of vacation when you feel a tickle right next to your ear.

 

You sit up quickly, whipping your head around. It’s not Sans… he’s clearly still downstairs, judging by the ominous knocking. There is no window or curtain behind your head that could invite a breeze into your ear. Do the skeletons have a pet? No, you’d have met one by now. You look behind the couch and immediately wish you hadn’t. A pile of squished trash was living there, and now that it’s been disturbed, it smells _rancid._

 

Grumbling, you fetch a broom and make short work of it.

 

“found it.”

 

“Do you keep your whole house like this?” you explode, indicating the overflowing garbage can with the dustpan.

 

Sans looks from you to the trashcan and back, then shrugs.

 

“Ugh! With such amazing talent like yours, you’d think you could use a little to take care of yourself!”

 

One more time, Sans’ bright eyes peer through your chest and he smiles. “here,” he says, totally ignoring your indignance. “it’s an old thesis that my… former boss wrote on the properties of inherent magic. if you can get through the dry writing, it’s really informative and might tell you about what it took to make the barrier.”

 

Taking the book, you find that it’s slender but dense. The font is tiny and the margins are minuscule. It’s like what you would do to get by on paper length requirements, but exactly the opposite. This is going to take a while.

 

“Thanks, Sans. Now… about your laundry.”

 

xXx

 

“ _Hey, Toriel. I thought you’d want to know that my date with Sans was a… success. He’s teaching me about magic now. I can see how you were worried about me before when I talked about the barrier. I don’t quite understand it yet, but it makes sense to me that if it was created by human magic, then it has to be human magic that dissolves it, which is unfortunate because I don’t know anything about human magic._

 

_Did you know that human souls are exponentially stronger than monster souls? This text says it would take every monster soul in the entire underground just to match the power of the barrier, much less undo it. Some of the mathematical formulas for magic calculation are just… beyond me, but if I knew just a little more, I could tell you exactly how much magic it would take to overcome it. I’m not a lot closer to figuring out how to do that, but if I turned out to be magical, that’d be just dandy._

 

_I miss you, monster-mama. Don’t be too lonely. Frisk says hi, too.”_

 

xXx

 

It’s a lovely evening, so you pull out one of the folding chairs to lounge in the front yard, waiting for Sans and Papyrus to come bickering home from sentry duty while you work on your ‘homework’. You and a lurid pink highlighter have a date with the latest chapter of the W.D.G. thesis entitled “The Propagation of Magical Material as it Pertains to the Direct Proportion of Energetic Resonance Present in Homogenous Beings; a Four Part Study in Graphs, Surveys, and Statistical Data.” Jesus. H. Christ. There wasn’t any brandy to help your tea, so you have to read this chapter _sober._

 

The ceiling crystals’ light is changing slowly, imitating a sunset that most monsters haven’t ever seen. In one way, the red, orange, pink, and yellow are very beautiful, washing every rooftop and snowbank with a different, luminous color. In another way, this beauty is not the same as the real thing. It makes you think of a question your friend asked you once about engagement rings. Was it more important to have a real, 24k diamond in an ugly setting or to have a cheap knockoff ring that looked exactly the way you wanted? You can’t remember what you both ended up deciding, but you remember thinking about it for a long time afterward.

 

Which mattered more; that the underground “sunset” was beautiful or that it wasn’t the real thing?

 

“Howdy!”

 

You leap about three feet straight up in the air, your heart pounding a thousand beats a minute. Right at your feet sprouts a detestable golden flower with a sickly saccharine smile, simpering sweetly at you.

 

“You!” you gasp, clutching your mug with both hands despite the burning splash of tea over your fingers.

 

“Hee, hee; did I scare you?”

 

“I thought I left you back in the ruins!” You hiss savagely.

 

“I’m awful sorry for attacking you before,” it says in a honeyed voice, the very picture of innocent contrition. It even folds its little leaves like a child would press their hands together. It’s disgusting.

 

“I don’t think you could be sorry if I had a pair of hedge clippers in my hand,” you say harshly.

 

Flowey doesn’t seem fazed by your attitude towards him. He shakes his little green leaves with agitation. “I’m surprised you’re still here! Captain Undyne is on the way, looking for humans!"

 

"Who's that? Why would they be looking for me?" come the questions tumbling out of your mouth before you remember that you don't trust the monster you're asking.

 

“Gosh, they didn’t tell you?” Flowey’s eyes grow impossibly wide while his voice rises dramatically in pitch. “How awful! They must be trying to protect you by _keeping_ it from you!”

 

“Ugh,” you roll your eyes. “I know what you’re doing, you manipulative little window decoration. I’m not interested in anything you have to say.” But it's not true and you can't make it true by saying it. You care _very much_  what it has to say on the subject.

 

He knows he's got something you want, and he's going to stall a while longer, probably to make you squirm. “I know why the king wants your soul. That’s what you want to know, isn’t it?”

 

You start suddenly, dropping the thesis that was precariously balanced on your knee. As far as you were aware, you had been alone with Sans when you’d had your conversation almost a week ago and though you hadn’t talked about it since, you’re fairly certain he hadn’t shared your questions with anyone else. You suspiciously glare at the little golden flower. “Have you been spying on me?”

 

“It’s about the barrier.” Your hand touches the outside of the pocket that holds your grandfather’s compass. It was not that long ago you took it from Toriel’s home, where the needle spun in a crazy, useless circle. Ever since, you’ve kept it with you, a little lifeline back to the surface. The little flower is waiting for your response with an _almost_ patient look plastered on its face. There’s a little, subtle movement right under the snow like someone would tap their toe and it’s making you very, very nervous.

 

“All right, I’ll bite. Why does the king want my soul for the barrier?”

  
Flowey has never looked more maniacally delighted. His smile is so wide, it splits his shining face and melts while his golden petals shudder with excitement. His oozing eyes bore into yours while his voice drips with malice. “He needs it to break the barrier! He’s going to take your soul and the six other human souls to do it! H e ‘s  g o i n g  t o   _k i l l_  y o u!”


	13. Don't Look Back

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's time to make an action plan. There's no time to lose.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I needed a little break after that last chapter. Took something out of me, it did. Anyway, here’s the next one.

There’s something off with you this evening, but Sans can’t quite put his fingerbone on what it could be.

 

Every day since the morning after your date, you would sit on the front porch of the skeleton brother’s house balancing his thick magic textbook on one knee and a cup of tea on the other, waiting for everyone to come home. Usually, you were distracted with highlighting and doodling in the margins of each page, but upon spotting your returning housemates, your face would split into an excited smile that saved a welcoming kiss for him. Sans was becoming fond of returning home to your sprawling, free-wheeling summaries of what you read that day, interspersed with wry commentary and a deluge of questions about the finer points of magic use. It really pushed him to the limits of his memory and understanding; a challenge he welcomed.

 

Dinner would then be the responsibility of both Papyrus and Frisk while magic lessons commenced in the living room, only occasionally paused for stolen snuggles. It was much too early to tell whether you had any aptitude for magic, but you needed to learn the theories first anyway. You sat then together at the kitchen table to eat and discuss your days. Sans can’t remember Frisk ever cooking in their house before, much less sitting down to share a meal. He remembers Undyne mentioning something about cooking lessons and arson in previous runs, but it never seemed like an important enough event to consider a significant moment. Maybe that was a mistake, Sans had thought to himself while passing lonely hours at the sentry station. Humans take small things like that very seriously, he was noticing.

 

It was just as interesting to see Frisk settle into a familiar situation as it was to get to know you. Conversations that were short and hurried in the past now had room to become explorative discussions, which allowed Sans’ understanding of human nature to grow more nuanced. For example, humans are creatures of habit, much like monsters. Monsters develop routines and customs to bridge immense generational gaps and lately as coping mechanisms to deal with their long incarceration. The deliberately repeated conversations of the locals in Grillby’s made the passage of time seem less painful than trying to find something new to say when every day was just as uneventful as the last.

 

By contrast, humans develop routines and customs, it seems, to compensate for their short, brutish lives, trying to find some stability and familiarity in a world that forgets them nearly as soon as it learns about them. Common rituals and greetings create community and family in a short period of time and can serve as a shorthand for the status and health of the community and individuals in it; an important asset for a species that can’t communicate with magic and souls. Frisk spent one dinner conversation elaborately detailing the necessities of birthday parties in your house on the surface, claiming that if one, small element was missing (like colorful, pointed hats), the event was disastrously ruined.

 

 _This_ is why your absence from your usual seat is troubling.

 

Papyrus (busy hooting about how awesome everyone is) doesn’t seem to notice that something has changed, but Frisk’s eyebrows draw together in a subtle frown that Sans takes as an ill omen. When they dart forward, though they find that the front door is closed, but not locked, so Sans nods to Frisk in a reassuring way. Maybe you’re just in the bathroom, being human, his shrug suggests. Frisk returns his nod and pulls Papyrus into the kitchen, preparing to do battle with some new ingredients.

 

Awkwardly, Sans stands in the living room, the pockets of his track shorts hiding the unsettled way he rubs his thumb over his knuckles. His eyes sweep the living room, looking for any clue, but other than some couch pillows on the floor, nothing looks disturbed. It’s bothersome that he can’t think of why this evening would be different from others, which makes him chide himself for getting worked up over nothing.

 

_CLICK_

 

The bedroom door opens, which makes him start and look up. There you stand with a curiously blank look on your face. Your hair is rumpled and there is no textbook in your hands. You gaze vaguely into the middle distance while closing the door, but when you spot him pretending not to stare a hole into your face, you slowly smile and come down the stairs with your arms reaching for him. Sans doesn’t relax until your face nestles against his collarbone, humming contentedly.

 

“Hey,” you murmur, breath tickling his bones.

 

“hey. no studying today?”  

 

“I tried, but… I’m really sleepy today.” It doesn’t sound like a lie, but it also doesn’t sound like the whole truth. Sans realizes that his habit of examining your soul every time you say something that could be significant is a bit… rude, but he can’t seem to help himself and gazes down through your very skin before he can stop himself. Soul magic is a famously difficult and imprecise talent. It has taken uncounted years for Sans to reach the point that he can focus and relax his magic in only a moment; fast enough that most monsters don’t really notice his lingering eyes. He thinks you have spotted him a few times, but you’ve never mentioned it, so he doesn’t bring it up. You’ll learn soon enough in your lessons anyway.

 

He spots your upside down soul quickly, beating slowly and steadily in your ribs. Its typically bright copper glow is dim tonight, looking much like it does when he kisses you before leaving for work in the morning. He thinks its languid energy then reflects your hatred for early mornings, so it may indeed indicate your sleepiness now. Problem solved. So why is he not relieved?

 

“we can play hooky for a night,” he says, pressing his teeth to your tangled hair. “i’d hate for your hard work to make you _bone tired_.”

 

You snort with insincere derision and pull away. Your smile hasn’t changed. “Maybe tonight would be a movie night?”

 

“DID SOMEONE SAY MOVIE NIGHT?”

 

And it’s settled. One mostly-cooked casserole later, everyone is in their movie-watching positions, intently following a new Mettaton romantic drama on the ancient television set.

 

Except for you.

 

Through the corner of his eye, Sans recognizes that while your face is pointed at the television, you aren’t seeing what’s there. Your soul isn’t glowing along with the emotions, your wooden smile isn’t moving, and you aren’t looking around at the other movie watchers to check that you are sharing the experience. Clearly, you are lost inside your own head and only interacting with this world on autopilot right now.

 

Knowing this doesn’t help much, though. You’ve made it clear that you are going to pretend to be all right, and Sans’ past experience with female monsters tells him that he isn’t allowed to let on that he knows you’re playing false. That way lies anger and arguments. On the other hand, he feels anxious knowing that something has upset your happiness and he can’t yet play a role in fixing it. According to Alphys’ research, it is a common no-win situation between the genders. She also insisted that the correct solution was to do NOTHING about the problem unless he wanted an anime-esque misunderstanding.

 

Gently, he pokes your thigh with one fuzzy pink slipper. You inhale suddenly through your nose and glance over. Now even your plastic smile is gone, surprised right away, which Sans acknowledges by smiling as warmly as possible and holding up one arm, exposing an extremely cuddable spot. After a moment, you decide to fill it with your warm, squishable self, resting one hand on his chest and sighing deeply when his arm pulls you close.

 

Maybe it’s enough to be present and not ask.

 

Maybe it’s enough to take your hand after the movie is finished when your family is in bed and lead you to the room you now share.

 

Maybe it’s enough to kiss you instead of talking, reminding himself of your every curve, every sweet spot, every nip that makes you sigh and open to him.

 

Maybe it’s enough to pour himself into pleasing you with teeth, fingers, and magic.

 

Maybe you’ll forget your secret troubles if he fills you with himself, grounding you both here in this moment, only thinking of each other.

 

Maybe if he has satisfied you enough, reassuring you with arms flung around your shivering body, you’ll let him into your mind as well as your body.

 

Maybe he is enough.

 

xXx

 

_“He needs it to break the barrier! He’s going to take your soul and the six other human souls to do it! H e ‘s  g o i n g  t o  k i l l  y o u!”_

 

Needless to say, you don’t sleep that night.

 

It’s pretty obvious that Sans was desperate to comfort you all evening, even if he doesn’t have a clue that your ears are ringing with high, sardonic laughter. Your new theory that he could detect deception proves frustratingly inconclusive since he didn’t call your bluff and demand to know the truth; your worst fear. Anyone could have figured out that you weren’t feeling or acting like usual, so his attention really proved nothing about his skills as a lie detector.

 

On the other hand, tonight you’ve learned that Sans doesn’t breathe in his sleep. He’s warm enough and he moves around like anyone else, but his ribs don’t rise and fall. More disturbingly, he doesn’t sleep with his eyes closed, so his empty, black sockets seem to stare through the darkness. It’s all you can do not to picture his unmoving bones in your mind as the Grim Reaper, waiting for you.

 

“ _H e ‘s  g o i n g  t o  k i l l  y o u!”_

 

You swallow the rising bile in your throat, breathe deeply, and turn your face to the ceiling. _Get a hold of yourself. This is important. What are you going to do now?_

 

You know now that it apparently takes seven human souls to produce enough magic to overwhelm the barrier. You know that six such souls have been collected so far, so if one can do basic arithmetic, you determine that only one more soul is needed. These lucky monsters don’t have just one available human soul running around in their midst, they have _two_. And they’re looking for you.

 

Okay, maybe not you and Frisk specifically, but they’re looking for something… _anything._ It must be driving them insane to be so close to freedom, but also so far away. It explains why Sans was fiercely protecting you and Papyrus was dutifully patrolling the forest every day. You think now that it was irresponsible to engage in a public showdown at Grillby’s, announcing to the entire monster town that someone new was hanging around, just waiting for someone to come find them.

 

And Undyne was coming?

 

You’re familiar with this name, but only in a superficial way. They’re the captain of the guard and Papyrus’ role model, the monster that he planned to give you to until you became friends. You know that it’s the royal guard's responsibility to find humans and… deal with them (whatever that entails). It’s not a huge guess to think that if someone found you suspicious, it would be to Undyne that they would report.

 

Not for the first time, your stomach clenches with worry at your lack of information. You are loathe to trust the detestable flower, but its words had a ring of truth that is hard to ignore. Sans, your generous _font_ of information, lays sleeping beside you, but you hesitate to ask any questions that would tip your hand for fear he would abandon his normally passive guidance and turn to more aggressive participation. (Did you really just make a pun in this time of stress? Inexcusable.)

 

You see, all day you’ve been mulling over your options, trying to feel out what the best plan could be. If the king is coming for a human soul, and he has proven six times over that he’s perfectly capable of getting it, then it comes down to keeping him from taking your soul or Frisk’s. There is a chance that the two of you could hide out the rest of your days in the underground, looking over your shoulders, trusting no one… and never returning home, but it seems a slim chance in a world that is unfamiliar and dangerous. You and Frisk would have to keep yourselves safe _every day_ while the king and his captain of the guard would only have to be lucky _once_. The thought makes your heart heavy with sorrow.

 

It doesn’t happen often like it used to, but you hear your father’s voice in your head. Weak from the disease that took him away, thin like his hands, he tells you that you are the head of the family now.

 

_“It’s your responsibility to take care of them. You’ve always been my brave, strong girl, and I feel good knowing that you’ll be in charge.”_

 

“... _ok, daddy.”_

 

You should have told him how much you love him. You should have told him that everything would work out, even if it wouldn’t. You should have said so much more than just… ok.

 

With frustration, you shake away the tears at the corners of your eyes. _Stop making yourself sad. It’s like you_ want _to be a martyr._

 

But it’s the only option you see ahead. If hiding out forever isn’t a permanent fix and it comes down to Frisk’s soul or yours, then the choice is obvious. It’s going to be you.

 

You’re pretty sure they’re going to try and stop you, those skeleton brothers. Frisk won’t be too thrilled about the decision, either. If they start talking about how your plan is crazy and futile, you might just lose your nerve and be unable to go through with it. On the other hand, if they like it and encourage you to do it… you’re not sure how you would feel about that, either.

 

It’s enough of a boost to make you want to get up _right now_ and make your escape but for a wall of sleeping skeleton that chose to sleep on the outside of the bed. It might have even been on purpose. You could probably scoot down to the foot and leave that way, but you’re not sure how light of a sleeper he is. The rolling of your stomach agrees with your caution, so it’s decided: you’ll wait until everyone leaves for work and patrol in the morning, which gives you some time to plan and make good your escape.

 

Sans mumbles suddenly, his sharp teeth chattering. You hold your breath for a moment, but his eyes remain dark. A sudden weight drops on your stomach and you realize that he reached for you in his dream. Your body goes cold with a flood of guilt.

 

It goes without saying that your adventures in love and romance have been unsuccessful, not to mention infrequent. Caring for a large family just doesn’t leave much room for dating and it certainly weeded out the young men who weren’t ready to take on that much baggage.

 

This monster, though…

 

This monster hadn’t shied away from your youngest, deaf sibling. He hadn’t pitied you when you told your story. He didn’t mock you when you showed interest in magic and asked even the most basic questions. Sans just… was Sans. He seemed to genuinely care about your feelings, and he seemed interested in your thoughts. His hand was always in yours when you wanted it, and his smile seemed to light up just for you. Your heart leaped every time you saw him and the taste of his bones was often on your mind now.

 

How long would it be before you found someone like this again?

 

The thought stays with you through the night and into the morning while you make your plans. Upon rising, you take extra care to be happy, jumping right out of bed and making breakfast for everyone. _Step one: take care of everyone._

 

“PANCAKES! WOWIE! THESE LOOK A LOT LIGHTER THAN USUAL!”

 

“I think you mean 'unburned', Paps,” you tease. As per usual, Sans’ plate is clean almost instantly after you put new pancakes on it and the ketchup bottle keeps finding its way back onto the table. Every time you put it back in the fridge, the amount of condiment inside is considerably less. It’s obvious to the entire table that he’s being secretive on purpose, so the game now is to see whether you can catch the twinkle of magic before it disappears. For a lazy skeleton, he’s very fast when he wants, so it’s a greater challenge than one might think.

 

“YES! THESE NOT-BURNED PANCAKES ARE EXCELLENT! NYEH-HEH-HEH!”

 

Sans winks at you. “i’d say they’re _crepes_.”

 

“BOO!” While Papyrus expresses his displeasure with Sans’ puns, Frisk is eyeing you suspiciously. Okay, maybe it was a little much to go full pancake (you never go full pancake!), but your guilt is securely contained under a cheerful smile, so you should be safe. You have extensive experience with hiding your anxieties, even though Frisk is and always has been the master of calling your bluffs. If there’s anyone who is going to see through your false smile, it’s them. You stick out your tongue and sign for them to finish their flapjacks. Keeping them busy will up your chances of remaining above suspicion.

 

Despite your best efforts, Frisk is still eyeballing you out the door and down the street, only half-heartedly returning your wave. You watch them go and hold yourself a moment, gazing hopefully. _Please_ , you think quietly. _Please turn around. Don’t let me do this…_

 

But they don’t. Sans and Papyrus take one of Frisk's hands each and lift them, giggling loudly, into the air. Everyone goes to their responsibilities with a good will. You turn and go back inside. _Step two: send everyone to work._

 

It takes you a while to locate a piece of paper that doesn’t have doodles and math scribbles on it, but hidden in Papyrus’ model painting desk you find a clean yellow legal pad. You bring it down to the kitchen table with a nub of charcoal to write and then you stare at the page for a while. How do you find the words to say what needs to be said? If this works, then everyone underground will be free and Frisk can return to the surface to rejoin your little, broken family. If it doesn’t, then they will be down here all alone.

 

No… not alone. Sans and Papyrus are unusually devoted to Frisk. You feel confident that your sibling will be loved and cared for.

 

Your paper is still blank.

 

What would satisfy you if you woke tomorrow and Frisk had given their life for you? Would any words be strong enough to soothe the ache in your heart? Optimistic Papyrus might not even really understand what you’ve done. And Sans… you were only just getting to know each other. A bitter tear falls on the page, wrinkling it with moisture.

 

 _Dear Frisk and Sans and Papyrus…_ you begin. You write for a long time. When it’s finished, you fold it in thirds and write _To my Friends and Family_ on the outside. You force yourself to look away from it lying on the table or you will snatch it up and tear it into tiny pieces.

 

Numbly, you walk up the stairs to collect your few things. You tenderly feel Papyrus’ dress for a moment, but ultimately leave it hanging from the arm of the treadmill. You’re already wearing your ‘adventuring’ gear, but it’s worth checking your pockets. The phone, the canteen... and your grandfather’s compass. Inside, the needle still spins in a lazy circle, completely confused by the magic barrier separating you and the monsters from the surface. When it comes down, it might deign to point north again. You smile, then place it on top of your letter. Frisk should have the only heirloom in your family.

 

After that decision, everything else feels like stalling. It’s the work of a moment to gather some food and water (only enough for a one-way trip) slip out the door and close it behind you.

 

Don’t look back.


	14. Through the Mountain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You make good your escape from Snowdin, encountering several obstacles through Waterfall along the way.
> 
> This chapter comes to you in three parts: Angst, Plot, and OH NOES

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So the third act of Act One needed some major restructuring and I didn't feel comfortable writing the leading chapters until I knew where it was going, so that's part of the delay in this chapter.
> 
> Also, y'know... I got married. So that's a thing now.

WHY.

 

DIDN’T.

 

YOU.

 

BUY.

 

_UNDERWEAR??_

 

It’s the kind of question that keeps returning like that one annoying friend everyone has. No one is really directly friends with them, but at every gathering he's somehow, magically present. You can forget he exists for a while, but eventually he comes to someone’s party and cocks the whole thing up. I’m looking at you, _Jerry._

 

After deciding not to go to New Home via Riverperson’s boat, you set out quickly across the misty bridge beyond the skeleton monsters’ house, mindful of the narrow window of time you have to complete this journey and the lack of information available regarding how to make this happen. It's unfortunate, but you thought that Riverperson might not keep you secret if asked directly by Sans, even if their answer were phrased cryptically, so you planned a path as best you could through Waterfall using your limited memory and hoping to get some directions on the way. In reality, your plan is to interact with as few monsters as possible due both to your fear of capture by the Royal Guard and the chance that your journey could be halted by any stranger’s connection to Sans and Papyrus, the popularity kings of the Underground. Thus, do you quickly and quietly slide your way across the long path out of Snowdin, careful to keep your eyes on the end of the narrow jut of land rather than straying to the chasm below. There is no one to help you if you slip up this time. The lack of underwear becomes relevant when you discover that the moisture of the bridge and the thick mist that normally obscures it has crept up your legs, making everything from the waist-down regrettably frigid. At the end, you stand there wringing out your skirt and wondering if it’s too soon to stop and dry out when...

 

“Oh, hey!” you exclaim, louder than intended. Your voice bounces off the dark cavern walls and away into the glittering caves. You had no idea Waterfall was so _close._ The distance Sans took you to the cave of echo flowers made you think that it was going to be quite a hike from his… where you were staying. Clearly he… you… went the scenic route. _Don’t think about it._

 

Swallowing a lump in your throat, you pat your pockets and set off, only quickly looking over your shoulder to see that the mist has returned and no one is following. Snowdin can no longer be seen. The path ahead is well worn, which makes you nervous. If you’re trying to get to the capital, then clearly you should use the path that many feet have trod, but that also means that many feet have trod it… and might use it still. You jump at every echoing sound, ready to dash out of sight, but no one comes. 

 

Despite your heightened sense of alertness, it doesn’t take long for the beauty of Waterfall to settle around you like a comforting blanket. The drips and drops of water from beautiful rock formations reverberate pleasingly, sounding at once both near and far. The peaceful blue of the luminescent fungus and flowers is exactly the right amount of light to see where you step, but not so much as to blind you. It’s easy to become fascinated by stalactites joining inexorably with stalagmites and unique clumps of fungus, shivering gently when brushed. Eventually, your mind wanders back to your night with Sans. Holding an umbrella together. Splashing water from the freezing river. Touching his hot bones that encircle you, pressing you close for a toothy, tingling kiss…

 

The warmth and humidity allow you pretend that the moisture on your face is just from droplets of cave water. That’s it for sure; the humidity. After all, none of your clothing has really dried out and your hair looks wet and stringy. Your hand rests for a moment over your heart.  _Why does it have to ache so much?_ Every step further from Snowdin has made the ache grow and there is nothing to distract you from the pain. You stand indulgently for a moment, thinking about how your plan will take you away from him forever. Not just him, but Papyrus and Frisk. The thought of losing your last, remaining family pulls more tears from your eyes. When it feels like you could never surface from such misery, you open your eyes, breathe deeply and shake your head once to clear the thoughts away.  _I'm doing this to save them. Focus._

 

You become aware that you are not alone. Though you have been careful to look all around, even peering into the clear water beside giant flower foot bridges, there are rustles and swaying plants that hint at unseen observers. It’s not a real bother until you hear the faintest giggle that makes your blood run cold.

 

“Hello?” you call cautiously, knees bent and prepared to bolt. You stare around, hardly blinking. Not a sound except the distant sound of rushing water. Lucky you’re too petrified to pee.

 

A little quieter, you try again. “Is anyone there?”

 

Nothing. Not a sound. Unless...

 

_BZZZZZZZZZZT!!!_

 

You shriek and fall on your ass.

 

_BZZZZZZZZZT!!!_

 

Oh… oh no.

 

_BZZZZZZZZZT!!!_

 

It’s your _phone_.

 

You take it from your pocket and quickly glimpse the incoming caller. It’s Papyrus. You dither for a long second about whether to answer, but ultimately decide that not answering would be more suspicious than ignoring it. Fingers trembling, you push the green button.

 

“Hello?”

 

“HUMAN! IT IS I, THE GREAT PAPYRUS!”

 

“Oh, uh, hey Papyrus. What’s up?” Can he hear dripping water and cave gravel in the background?

 

“FRISK AND I WERE THINKING ABOUT YOU THIS MORNING AND… WE WANTED YOU TO KNOW THAT WE’RE VERY HAPPY YOU’RE HERE! WE HOPE THAT MY BROTHER’S LAZINESS HASN’T MADE YOU SAD! OR HIS PUNS! THEY MAKE _ME_ SAD, NYEH-HEH-HEH!”

 

“Er, no. No, you brother hasn’t made me sad,” you said quickly, “And… I’m happy to stay with you, too.”

 

“GREAT, BECAUSE UNDYNE WILL BE STAYING WITH US TONIGHT AND I KNOW SHE’LL BE GREAT FRIENDS WITH YOU, TOO! SHE’S THE CAPTAIN OF THE ROYAL GUARD, YOU KNOW!”

 

Yes. You remember. “Undyne? Tonight?” your voice squeaks.

 

“YES! WE’LL MAKE SOMETHING EXTRA SPECIAL, RIGHT FRISK? FRIENDSHIP PASTA? A GOOD HEARTY FRIENDSHIP PASTA TO MAKE TWO OF MY FRIENDS, FRIENDS!! AND HAVE THEM STOP BEING _NOT_ FRIENDS!!!”

 

Frisk’s answer hardly registers as you hang up the phone and stare back towards the house. Maybe you should go back. Undyne has a serious reputation according to the Snowdin locals (including one distinctly overinformed monster child) and with a little human at the house, making… _friendship pasta..._ Frisk could need your help. Your fear is almost enough to make you race back right now...

 

...but on the other hand, you might be able to make it to the Capital by nightfall and prevent the whole thing. According to the one map you saw for a few seconds at the librarby several days ago, the Underground took up the same area as the base of Mt. Ebott, so it really wasn’t very big. If you could get to King Asgore before Undyne came to the skeleton brothers’ house… and give up your soul… then there would be no need for Frisk’s soul, putting everyone in the same situation you already chose. And what can you do against the Captain of the Royal Guard that two magical skeletons can't anyway?

 

You don’t love it, but it’s still the best plan you have. You forcefully push aside your fear and make your feet redouble their efforts. Gravel crunches noisily under you, ringing off the dark walls, now blurred by your speed. The longer you think about Frisk facing down a terrifying monster clad in magical armor, the more your haste doesn’t feel like enough. You break into a jog, kicking several jutting rocks and earning stubbed toes. You accidentally step on a clump of beautiful flowers and feel bad for a moment. Around corners and across bridges you run, skidding in your hiding boots on slick stones. You have to reach the end of waterfall… you _have_ to. You push yourself harder, pumping your legs to be faster.

 

Now your breath is coming in labored, painful spurts. There is at least one stitch in your side, and your vision is narrowed to only the path ahead; no more checking bushes, no more looking for other travelers… You recognize deep down that this is more dangerous, but a loud, insistent voice in your head is commanding you to beat Undyne in a race they don’t know they’re in.

 

But where is Undyne coming from?

 

Your blood runs cold as you realize that you could run into Undyne on this road, heading to the very place you left. It’s startling enough to make you skid to a stop and lean on a rocky outcropping to catch your breath. You force air slowly and deliberately in and out of your burning lungs while wiping away rivers of sweat from your face and neck. When you've calmed, you take a frigid sip of water from your canteen and clip it back. You look around and recognize nothing.  _Where am I?_

 

This area of Waterfall is dim. The luminous mushrooms that light the cave are so dark, the cave walls look grey and gloomy and the ceiling is totally invisible. Curiously, you reach out to one clump and it perks up immediately, shedding new light on the gravel path. _Maybe they're just sleeping_ , you think, not knowing if that is a common trait in fungus. For the first time, it seems that there is a fork in the road whereas the path has been singular and clear before. Ahead, the road is dark and cold, hard to see anything at all, but to the left, it is a little brighter. As much fun as the idea of being lost in a wet cave in the dark forever is, you turn and start walking towards the light.

 

_Is that supposed to be music?_

 

There is a sustained noise coming from the source of the light that might, or might not be a musical instrument. Or several. It doesn’t sound good. You hesitate, rethinking your decision at the fork, but then…

 

“OHOI!”

 

“ _JESUS!!_ ” you screech, leaping about 12 feet in the air. From your new perch atop the biggest, blackest boulder, you spy a little cat-like monster in a comical sweater. It… she? stands shivering on its four feet, vibrating as it smiles at you.

 

“OHOI! I’M TEMMIE!” its voice is shrill and grating, almost too high to echo.

 

You eyeball it suspiciously. Temmie vibrates erratically but doesn’t move closer, even when you slide off the rock. “Um, hello,” you venture.

 

The little monster’s eyes widen like blurry saucers. “OMG!! human TOO CUTE!!”

 

“Shhhh!” you say, hurrying forward with your fingers on your lips. “Don’t say that so loud!”

 

With a shriek, the beast falls on its back, silly ears flapping. It closes its eyes tightly and pretends to be dead with its tongue hung out one side of its mouth. It’s still long enough that you wonder if you could just back away safely when it springs upright with even more energy than before.

 

“COME TO TEM SHOPS!" Temmie squeals, bouncing around you in a circle, "Gots to afford COLLEG!! Many goods thing, yaYA!!!”

 

“Shhhhhh! I don’t need to buy anything,” you say desperately, cringing at how high and piercing its voice is. Any minute now, every monster within a 5 mile radius is going to come investigate.

 

“Nuuuuuu!” Temmie wails in anguish, “Hunans must comes to SHOP! Gots to haves dem! PEAS COME TO TEM SHOPS!!!”

 

“OK! Ok, ok,” you whisper anxiously. “I’ll come to your… shop if you can _please, please_ be quiet!”

 

“YAYA!”

 

Right away, it leads you further down the path towards the light and noise. On silent tiptoe, you follow as slowly as you dare, still hoping that you could slip away unnoticed. Temmie, however, excitedly looks back and waits for you every few feet to lead you around one more corner and into a… village? In this tiny, recessed grotto you see a passel of little catlike monsters, all wearing the same blue sweater, all vibrating disturbingly in sync. Immediately upon seeing you, they rush forward and uncomfortably profess their delight at your visit through ear-splitting squeals and emphatic fainting.

 

“OHOI! I’m TEMMIE!”  “OHOI! I’m TEMMIE!”  “OHOI! I’m TEMMIE!”  “OHOI! I’m TEMMIE!”

 

“Um… Hello,” you answer, peeking nervously over your shoulder. Outside the grotto entrance, the cavern is dark; barely lit by the fungus.

 

“HELLO!” they all repeat, turning to each other and clearly pretending to be you. This is followed by more protestations of cuteness and an inability to deal.

 

At your insistence, they all usher you into a structure that reminds you of the lemonade stands children would set up in your old neighborhood. Unsurprisingly, an identical Temmie monster sits behind a cardboard box looking simultaneously overly excited and unbelievably vacant. The ‘I’ in ‘Item” on the cardboard box has been crossed out to make “TEM SHOP” the name of this structure. In the back, there are many crooked shelves overflowing with junk. Broken toys, dilapidated boxes, clothing of strange sizes and colors, and what appear to be gathered clumps of white fur; all stuffed haphazardly on the shelves. You look for several moments, trying to make sense of everything in here.

 

“welcom to… da TEM SHOP!!!” squeals the monster behind the cardboard, breaking your interest in a little black framed picture.

 

“Oh, er, thank you.”

 

“THANK YOU!” screeches the audience outside, falling over themselves with laughter and scampering off. You feel your face grow hot. It would be nice to get through this experience as quickly as possible and get on to the capital, but it seems less and less like a possibility. Temmie is waiting expectantly. Maybe in this junk somewhere is something useful?

 

“Do you know how to get to the capital?” you ask.

 

“YAYA, capiTAL BIG city! TEMS have big hisTORY in da CAPITALS!!”

 

“Yes, that sounds… interesting, but how do I get there?”

 

“THROO the caves. Follow da caves, come to da CAPITALS!!” At this, the Temmie pretends to faint again from your incompetence.

 

You quirk an eyebrow at her dramatics and ask, “...have you ever been there?”

 

“.... … ………….. .. .. no.” Temmie peeks to see your reaction.

 

You barely resist the urge to roll your eyes. “Then why would you have a big history there?” you say with mild frustration, feeling very roadblocked by all of this.

 

On the floor, her ears twitch, then droop. “tem gota pay for colleg,” the monster explains sadly. “if tem pay for colleg, then tem go to da capitals."

 

You feel your heart sink. From your pocket, you draw out the small clutch of gold pieces you have kept safe for nearly a week and gaze at them, counting silently. At length, you speak again. “Do you have a map?”

 

"YAYA!" Excitedly, Temmie leaps down from the stool behind her cardboard box and crashes recklessly through the recesses of her shop. Paper, plastic, and other junk go flying through the air in her wake making you duck and swat away an old, partially melted Barbie doll. “HERE!!” she says, popping up under your arm with a big, grubby piece of leather in her mouth. You take it gingerly and see that it’s really a leather folio with wrinkled, yellowing notebook pages inside. Drawn in faded ink seems to be the cavern layout of the underground in whole on the first page, then in parts on the following pages. In the back is a curious flap that you open to find a pair of reading glasses. It’s perfect.

 

“Thank you! Thank you! Oh my God! This will get me to the capital?” You lean down and hug Temmie’s large, fluffy head with her anime hair and many sets of ears.

 

“CUUUUUUUTE!!!!” she wails, quivering intensely in your arms. Quickly, you let go and make your departure before you can get roped into a… Temmie family dinner or something. “Thank PURCHASE!” she yodels after you over a chorus of “HELLO!”s and laughter. Soon, their bright, noisy village is behind you and you are left alone once again to navigate through Waterfall by the dim light of your Nokia and reluctant mushrooms.

 

The map, it turns out, is quite old and therefore not always accurate when it comes to the location of piers and minor caverns. More than once a pathway is indicated clearly in ink, but in the real world, only the posts for a bridge remain. You open the flap containing the reading glasses and look at them more closely. One lens is cracked and the glass is not clear, but rather a little milky and translucent. When you put on the reading glasses, however, invisible ink appears on the map, glowing faintly green. This seems to be the updated, annotated version of Waterfall. The not-bridge you had been standing at, for example, is crossed out and an arrow has been drawn through a twisty cavern as a detour. The cartographer also wrote the note “always turn up the lanterns”. Indeed, this cave is lit by a number of lazy lanterns that dim over time and necessitate you to dashing to the next one to turn it on or be consumed by darkness. Reading it feels like another encouraging voice giving you hints to succeed. This feeling makes you take care to shield the fragile pages from tall grass and dripping water.

 

Abruptly, the narrow, winding path you’ve been following widens into an enormous cavern sparkling with crystals like stars. Is it the night hours already? The space is too big for an echo here, so big the distant walls can’t be seen, but you creep along on cat paw steps anyway feeling open and vulnerable. A majestic castle rises through the void reflecting the blue of the sky crystals.

 

“New Home,” you read on the map, feeling your heart skip. It seems so far away, but the jotted notes lead you to believe that it’s only a few hours trip yet.

 

_rustle… rustle..._

 

What. was. _that?_

 

“Temmie?” you try, hopefully.

 

… … … … … _RUSTLERUSTLERUSTLERUSTLE_

 

You freeze, hardly daring to breathe. That sounds like it’s _right behind you_. You turn your head slowly, dreading what you will find.

 

_CLANK CLANK CLANK!!!_

 

A bright flash of metal sparkling with blue lights is approaching like a freight train and you take to your heels.

 

Rocks and stones clatter every which direction, violently kicked by your fleeing feet. The castle disappears behind you, the cavern crystals appearing to swing wildly in time with your steps. You shoot into another narrow tunnel at the other end of the cavern and clatter around several bends. It’s impossible to tell whether the _CLANK_ ing you hear is actually right behind you or just _sounds_ like it because it’s bouncing off the tunnel walls. Either way, you recklessly dive for the first large patch of grass you see and curl up as small as possible. Your lungs are burning, fighting your desperation for silence to get the air they crave. It seems hidden here in the grass, but you press yourself against the ground anyway, tucking your knees into your chest and listening with all your might.

 

The clank of metal is near. Every movement your pursuer makes sounds like they’re crashing down on top of you. You feel like your very skin is going to tremble right off your body. Wait… what’s that trembling in your pocket?

 

**RINGRINGRING!!!**

 

_CLANGCLANGCLANG!!!_

 

...oh _FUCK!_

 

Like a terrified rabbit, you dash out of the grass just under the metallic monster's arms and down the pier beyond, slipping and sliding over the soaked wooden planks. There is no doubt now that you’ve been sighted, especially when _CRACK!_  bright teal lightning streaks right by you, leaving an electric sizzle in its wake. You pump your legs even harder, hearing a voice somewhere in your head telling you that an erratically moving target is harder to hit than one running in a predictable straight line. You haven't been paying attention to the way you've been fleeing but to be sure, you feel _really erratic right now._

 

You chance a glance over your shoulder and immediately regret it. A monster that is taller and bulkier than you is charging towards you all clad in heavy plate armor and breaking wooden boards with every crashing step. You splash through an especially slippery puddle, which jerks your attention forward again. The pier is running out. Where did it go? The map is in your hands, but there’s no way you can look at it now. All you can see is a black, watery end to your escape.

 

There’s no choice but to skid to a stop.  You hold the leather folio to your chest and turn boldly, expecting to see the immense suit of armor just behind you and ready to face it down even if your knees shake under you. In reality, the armored monster stopped several feet ago, probably realizing as you did that the pursuit was over. In one hand is the magic that you took for lightning: a vibrant spear made of magical energy. The pier buckles distressingly below them, creaking as they stalk forward. You think you see a blue glint in the visor slot. You fill your lungs with air and brace yourself to shout:

 

“I don’t want to fight!”

 

At the same time, the monster declares in a booming voice, “HUMAN! Your journey ends HERE! You are the ENEMY of everyone’s hopes and… Wait, what?” Clearly, your echoing voice reached their ears and interrupted their train of thought.

 

“I’m friends with…” your voice trails out quickly, realizing that giving away the secret that your friends were keeping you safe is a _terrible_ idea. “I mean… _everyone_ knows Undyne!" you recover, gesturing impressively toward them with one arm. "Undyne: the captain of the royal guard! Undyne: the ultimate warrior of the people! Undyne: the great and powerful!”

 

If she is taken aback by your sudden praise, it doesn’t last. “THAT’S RIGHT!” She crows, thrusting her mailed fist aloft. “Get ready, punk 'cause I will defeat you and…”

 

“ _NO_. I don’t want to fight!” you call again, more firmly this time.

 

If there ever existed the monster equivalent of a 404 error not found, it is Undyne right now. After an awkward moment of silence, one gauntlet raises to tear off her helmet so she can stare at you properly. Underneath is a brightly colored blue-green monster sporting a high, fiery red ponytail and flappy gills. Her armored shoulders slump with confusion while her one brilliant yellow eye peers at you. She tilts her head to one side and you see that the other eye is covered by an eyepatch. It would be hilarious if you weren't terrified by her sharp, pointed teeth.

 

“Well… well WHY NOT?” she demands.

 

 _Here we go. Throw in all your chips._ “Because I want you to take me to the King!" you declare, pointing dramatically to your chest and lifting your head to expose your fleshy, naked throat. "I wish you to take me to the castle so that I can give him my soul to free the monsters!” With a jump of your heart, you realize that this is just how you played with Papyrus.

 

“WHAAAAAA??” Her mouth falls open in a hysterical manner that makes her look even more like a tropical blue fish in a tank, if that tank were a suit of armor. She flaps indignantly for a moment, then says with a hint of a pout, “I- I don’t believe you... This must be a trick!”

 

“I mean it, I’m not going to fight you! Ugh, come here and we’ll talk!" 

 

So she does.

 

And it is _terrifying_.

 

She is wearing the equivalent of a _tank’s_ worth of metal that clanks imposingly with every movement. In her hand is a spear like crackling blue lightning, made of pure monster energy. And her expression… well, it’s not hatred, which is a good sign, but it's still powerful and aggressive. You notice again that her grin is comprised almost entirely of fangs, but up close, each is the size of your hand.

 

“Talk fast, human,” she growls.

 

You are filled with courage.

 

“Undyne, you have all these people to protect. Every monster down here is counting on you to help save them. I also have someone to protect, someone to save: the soul of a child. If I can trade my soul for theirs… I will. In an instant. _Let me protect them._ ” You approach her slowly, looking up at her with wide, innocent eyes, pleading smile, and outstretched hands. Undyne stiffens, glaring down at you suspiciously, but doesn’t move until the very tips of your fingers touch her gleaming breastplate. Then all at once she jerks toward you and you feel a wrenching pain in your torso.

 

“Urk!” You choke and look down. Her blue energy spear is sticking right through your middle, a little to one side of your bellybutton and straight through the leather-bound map. Throbbing pain blossoms slowly through your body as you gradually realize what this means. “You… stabbed me… why?”

 

“Nooooooooo!” shrieks a high, squeaky voice behind you. You are vaguely aware of a wooden  _bump_ against the pier and water splashing behind you. Blood is soaking your dark blouse and starting to make a trail down your skirt. Gravity exerts itself upon you and you slowly fall to your knees, hands almost touching the handle of the spear. The pages of the notebook stay where they are, pinned as though by a morbid thumbtack to you, the corkboard. You can't look away.  _Goodbye, friend._

 

"What are you doing?" shriek's Undyne's harsh voice.

 

"I c-came to st-stop you! Th-this human is t-telling the truth!"

 

Undyne snorts. "How would you know? Because you watch them on your screen? Come on."

 

"W-well...  _yes._ " There is a sound like scraping claws. "B-but, you learn a-alot about someone f-from w-watching them. Y-you should know th-that... y-you love human history!"

 

"THAT'S DIFFERENT!!"

 

Is it your imagination or is there a rustle behind you? Why is your phone in your hand? It feels cool now... night must be here...

 

"Oh n-no!"

 

It's time to sleep now... So tired...


	15. Anime might not be real, but Cosplay...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At the lab, you manage to recruit some help and prepare to dash to the castle in New Home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A) Mea culpa: that took FOREVER. Possibly even FIVEVER.  
> B) Mea culpa: it's a little shorter than normal, but not by much.  
> C) Mea minima culpa: this took an interesting direction.

It’s quiet here.

 

All around you, your invisible fingers push through the endless void, finding nothing, sensing nothing. There is no light, no gravity, and no sense of yourself. It’s so quiet.

 

But then, it’s really not. Gradually, you realize that you can _just_ hear voices; muffled and hushed, but present and urgent. There are clearly two voices now, one higher and one lower. They sound… hurried, anxious. You think you’ve heard them before from somewhere and you’re thinking about asking, but what’s this? There’s something… in your mouth? Your tongue is lethargic and slow to follow your commands, but eventually you roll a hard sphere around behind your teeth. It leaves a sweet, spicy trail that is soothing. _Delicious._ It gives you some energy.

 

Your eyes open to see a dimly lit room that is open on one side, like a loft. On this side, there is a nightstand overflowing with letters, a worktable with many shining tools precisely laid out, and a moving walkway extending away into the darkness. On the open side, there is a low railing preventing a fall onto the lower level from which flickering fluorescent light emanates. Slowly, you lift your heavy head and peer into the darkness behind the nightstand, but can see nothing clearly. This place is like a strange mix between a trendy apartment and an airport; both unfamiliar, both making your head spin.

 

You can’t remember anything about how you got here, but you do remember the frightening electric teal spear that caused your memory and consciousness to fail. The way it protruded from your stomach is burned into your mind. A quick probe with your fingertips finds an uneven area of skin a little to the left of your navel. It feels like a raised scar, the kind that would be commonly seen from months-old wounds, but retains all the tenderness of a recent injury. Very strange.

 

It aches more strongly as you sit up, nearly enough to make you swoon back on the oddly square bed. You swallow and some of your saliva carries the smokey flavor of candy down your throat. It restores some of your courage and brings the loft back into focus. You stick out your tongue and pick up the sticky sphere to get a better look. It’s clearly a hard candy like many you have seen on the surface, but much more exotic with it’s hand-spun pink and orange texture shot through with gold flecks. You’re sure that if you could detect magic, this would glow brightly. Fascinating. Back in it goes.

 

After a few more sucks, you feel strong enough to stand. The warm blanket falls to the floor, revealing that you are naked. Unashamed, you look around for your clothes and find them in an untidy pile. They are soaked through to the touch and smell like a combination of swampy water and salty sweat. It’s gross, but you have nothing else to wear. You’re about to put them on anyway, but then you see what’s left of your blouse. The green ribbons of cotton look like they were put through a salad shredder on _pulverize_. You touch the scraps and wonder, _how did I survive this?_ It looks as though a cannonball blast ripped through your torso like it was no more substantial than tissue paper. Beside your clothes is the ruined notebook. You would pry apart the pages, but it's difficult for an object with a 4 inch hole through it to maintain any integrity. The beautiful hand-drawn maps are, as you thought, destroyed. Just pointless lines in the margins, now. Tentatively, you open the flap holding the glasses and are dismayed to see that all of their clouded glass is gone. Did they fall off your face and break? You set them aside. _M_ _aybe I should stop buying things._  

 

“That doesn’t matter!” says Undyne’s voice in a furious whisper that carries up to you. “It’s still a human, not a pet! Where are you going to keep it, huh?”

 

You drop to the floor and creep to the balcony. Just under the railing, you can see two monsters standing close together in front of a tall, dim screen, arguing. You recognize Undyne right away, even outside her shining armor. No one could forget the fierce warrior’s stance, her voice, her ecstatic face eager to vanquish all foes... and right now is no exception. Her teal skin is flushed with passion and her fierce yellow eye pierces the other monster in the room, a short, yellow and scaly monster. With its back it to you, you can only see hints of spikes making folds in their white lab coat. Their _dirty_ white lab coat. Its hem is frayed and gray and there are several stains, you see, feeling shame for the poor laundry machine that has to clean that disaster. You nearly swoon thinking of this, but taking another bracing taste of the delicious candy helps you pop back up in time to hear…

 

“-d-doesn’t matter! S-she n-n-needs to g-get to the c-castle! It’s imp-portant…” The smaller monster trails off, seemingly unwilling to continue its thought, which gives Undyne space to press the advantage, stepping forward and puffing out her shoulders.

  
“It’s a trap! No human is interested in helping anyone! Did you forget in that fancy monster school what they taught you about the human wars? They can’t be trusted, Alphys, you know that. They’re not like their anime.”

 

“Th-that’s not true! Th-this one’s d-different...” the yellow monster’s words seem certain, but their anxious claws tap together, robbing their point of all confidence.

 

“How could you possibly know from watching them on a screen? You’re not in their head; you’re not listening to their schemes,” Undyne snarls, turning away in frustration.

 

“Neither are you,” says Alphys, sulkily. “She _cares_ .” At last, the little yellow monster turns their face to you, just for a moment. You see a pinched, worried face made of yellow scales and big, brown eyes magnified exponentially by round, coke-bottle glasses. She looks rather like an herbivorous dinosaur since her blunt teeth are exposed by her overbite. “I _k-know_ she does.”

 

It’s a tense moment downstairs after this pronouncement. Neither woman seems willing to pick up the fight or let it go. You watch Undyne’s shoulders relax, inch by inch and when she speaks, it’s with an air of self-reflection.

 

“I just wonder if it isn’t a trap. If the human isn’t trying to get close so they can finish what their ancestors started centuries ago.”

 

Alphys creeps close to the most dangerous monster you’ve met and gently touches her elbow with just the back of her claws. “I-I know. B-but maybe i-if you t-talk to her, y-you c-could underst-stand what she w-w-wants.”

 

This sounds like the best introduction you’re going to get. You quickly stand and wrap the sheet around you like the worst toga at a frat party and silently pad down a quickly-moving escalator on bare feet. “Hello?” you call, hoping to sound non-threatening.

 

The two female monsters start and face you. Undyne’s intensity has returned in full force, which makes you thankful that little Alphys is between you because she, by contrast, looks delighted.

 

“Um,” you say, looking down at the poorly knotted gray sheet preserving your modesty, “I was going to get dressed, but… there wasn’t much left of my… my clothes.”

 

Undyne looks smug at this, but Alphys shuffles to one side saying, “Y-yes! O-over here, I’ve g-g-got something.” From the middle of a leaning stack of clothes, she pulls out a sleeveless dress and hands it to you. More due to exhaustion than shame, you let the sheet drop to the ground and turn around to pull it over your head. The dress hangs off your shoulders like a darkly colored sack but falls pleasingly to the widest part of your calf, which makes sense. Alphys is wider than you, but also a little shorter, so her clothes would be a good height, but too loose. With excitement, she comes forward to get her sheet and critically examines the garment’s fit. Up close, you see she has long eyelashes that just brush the inside of her glasses' lenses. You feel a squeeze of your heart for your lost glasses.

 

She gestures to the waist of the dress and looks over her shoulder to Undyne, who nods and walks the other way purposefully. They don’t seem to need to speak their thoughts aloud, despite the unfinished argument. It’s cute; you wonder how long they’ve been together.

 

“I’m so ex-excited you’re here!” Alphys says quickly in a stage whisper. “I’ve been watching your journey since you came out of the ruins and I think it’s so… _moving_ that you want to save Frisk and I’m _totally_ on your side, rooting for you, but Undyne is having a hard time believing that you could have honorable intentions and she just wants to protect King Asgore and the underground because they’ve had such a close relationship for so long and… and… *huff*” She sways dangerously to one side and you steady her with an arm under hers.

 

“Hey, breathing is important,” you say, unable to keep a wide grin off your face. She was just so excitable. What was the correct term for a fan of humans? Hum-a-boo? Wee-a-man? That sounds dreadful.

 

“S-s-sorry,” she pants, straightening her little round glasses. “I’m just so g-glad that I got the ch-chance to help you.” Alphys’ eyes flick over her shoulder and her already soft voice drops so low that you have to lean in to hear her whisper. “Undyne a-almost had you.”

 

"Weird, I thought she did." Your fingers touch your stomach, right where your closed wound borders your navel. Something about her words doesn’t quite fit, but as far as you can tell, she’s correct. You nearly died on that pier. There’s no doubt in your mind that the last voice you heard before going unconscious from blood loss and trauma was Alphys’. Your mouth opens to ask about the candy that’s nearly dissolved when a loud _thump_ behind the little yellow monster startles you both.

 

Undyne, on the bottom step, stares down at an enormous sack of dog food that has spilled all over the floor. “Punk bag,” she growls. Without having to look, she throws a long, black piece of leather at you, which wings perfectly around your neck, then she bends to start picking up kibble. 10 points; she’s good. Alphys also scuttles off to help, so you take the thing from your neck and look at it. It’s a wide, leather belt, obviously meant to help the fit of the dress you’re wearing. Quickly, you buckle it on and look for a broom, which is found behind the largest TV you’ve ever seen. You notice that the program on the television is parallel to your own actions: a woman in black is pulling a broom out from behind… a… waitaminute.

 

You look suspiciously over your shoulder, but fail to see a camera. Looking back to the screen, you see the back of a short, curvy woman in a prim, sleeveless black dress that flares pleasingly from a cinched waist in a 50’s style bell shape. Long, messy hair obscures the back of her neck, a contrast to her bare legs and little, pointed feet below. When you raise your left hand, she also raises her left hand. When you hop up and down, she also bounces up and down on the balls of her feet, hair swinging playfully. It’s the sickest comedy routine ever.

 

“What is this?” you say, pointing a finger at your image. “WHAT IS THIS??”

 

There is a rustle like more spilled kibble and the clatter of claws on the linoleum. Alphys sidles up beside you, stammering worse than usual and tapping her fingertips together too quickly. “Th-that is… w-w-well… a-an exp-perim-ment for… t-that is to s-s-say…  I use it f-for… you s-see, what h-h-happened was…”

 

“She was ordered by King Asgore to create surveillance that would detect and observe humans,” says Undyne bluntly, staring deadpan at you. You realize that this is the kind of moment she has been waiting for; to determine whether you are trustworthy. Your answer could mean everything. You feel courageous.

 

“I’m glad you did,” you say in a calm voice, turning to speak with Alphys exclusively. “If you hadn’t, I’d be dead and I wouldn't have the chance to ask for your help. I know that all monsters are trapped here by the barrier and I know that you need one more human soul to break it. If it was just me down here, I might not care but… my sibling, Frisk, fell down after me.” Alphys gasps and clamps her claws to her mouth. “I don’t think I can protect the both of us forever.”

 

Now you look up to Undyne. “If it’s a choice between me and them… I choose me. I want to go to the King and give him my soul to break the barrier.”

 

There it is: laid out on the table.

 

Your move, Undyne.

 

The fish-person is shining with sweat, but whether it’s due to the stress of the situation or the uncomfortable warmth of the lab is uncertain. She turns her head oh-so-slightly to one side so that her eye can see all of you at once. You stare back, trying to decide whether to appear more fierce to match her ferocity or solicitous to appeal to her compassion. She opens a mouth of pointed teeth to make her reply when a movement in the corner of your eye distracts you both.

 

Alphys is looking at her with claws clasped together. Behind her glasses, she is making the biggest doe eyes she can, whispering ‘ _please, please, please’_ over and over again. Undyne regards this, closes her mouth, and sighs through her nose, gills flapping minutely on her neck.

 

“If that’s what you want,” she says loudly, “ _IF-_ then I am honor bound to escort you to the King to fulfill my duty to the crown. _BUT_ \- if you make one treacherous move, _just_ _one toe out of line,_ then I will kill you at that very moment. Do you hear me, punk?”

 

You cross the floor to her and hold out your hand to shake. She seems like the kind of monster that would value a physical agreement. “Yes. On my life.”

 

Immediately, she takes it and tries to crush your fingers with a big grin. “GREAT! Let’s start planning.”

 

xXx

 

_Hey Toriel, it’s me again. I’ve gotten these two to help me get to the capital… Undyne and Alphys, I mean. They both swear up and down that they’re not a couple, but… it’s obvious that they need to be. We watched Mew Mew Kissy Cutie because Alphys couldn't stop herself until we watched "just the introduction" and not only had they memorized each line, they had these little joke routines lined up that sounded rehearsed. It’s disgustingly cute… and it makes me miss Sans._

 

_According to Undyne, humans haven’t been seen by the general populous in so long that most monsters won’t know what I am, but the downside is that the guard have been trained in exactly that: human hunting. It’s them we’ll have to avoid if I’m going to get there in one piece._

 

_She was confused about why I wanted to be in the capital to give King Asgore my soul instead of just letting her kill me in Waterfall when the outcome would be the same. It took both and Alphys and me explaining it for a few times for her to understand. I want my soul to be a gesture of peace; like a freewill offering to make up for the centuries of misery the monsters have had to endure underground because of us. If he accepts it and Frisk is safe, then maybe both humans and monsters can move on. I thought you might approve._

 

 _Anyway, the quickest way to the capital is through… Hotland, apparently crawling with guards. We briefly discussed a longer route, but… well, I didn’t want to_ say _that I’m trying to beat Sans, Papyrus and Frisk coming after me, but, the more I think about the note I left behind, the more I know that I would do exactly that in their shoes. Undyne called to cancel their sleepover date. Papyrus was sad, but, Sans was... suspicious. I'm sure they're heading home now and they're going to read the note and... I just don’t know how much time I have to pull this off._

 

xXx

 

“This seems ridiculous.”

 

“M-maybe, but it’s the m-middle of the school day and n-no one will th-think tw-tw-twice about it. You'll b-blend in p-perfectly.”

 

You snort with derision. “Can I get a second opinion on this?” you appeal to Undyne, who is slouched on the couch, pretending to be less interested in the violently pink anime than she is. (Alphys couldn't bring herself to turn it off, so it's been playing during your planning and preparation.) With extreme sass, the fish monster rolls her head to look at you, then badly stifles a shout of laughter.

 

Somewhere in her cosplay closet, Alphys has been saving a schoolgirl costume for just such an occasion. Black Mary-Jane lifts and thigh-high bleach-white socks that are double-side-taped in place rise to not-quite-meet an indecently short knife-pleated skirt and a tightly fitting white, long-sleeved blouse. All you need are gravity-defying pigtails and half the underground will get a nosebleed as you walk by.

 

“Hmph,” you sigh, turning back to Alphys and gesturing to indicate Undyne’s reaction. “Not exactly incognito. Are you sure I can’t wear the parrot costume?” _Incogniña, señorina_ , you think, knowing Sans would appreciate a bilingual, rhyming pun and immediately feeling guilty.

 

Alphys ignores you and waves a claw in the air. “Here are some b-books. Night school will be l-letting out in j-just an hour, so you need to be p-past the checkpoint by then. Undyne, if you w-will… a review, please.”

 

Undyne pulls up a map app on her phone and holds it flat for everyone to see. Interested, you lean over, expecting to see something like Mapquest that is full of streets and traffic information, but instead it displays a color-coded outline of all the underground caverns. Currently, Undyne’s teal dot is in a square building labeled “Dr. Alphys’ Royal Laboratory” standing next to her yellow one. You suppose you should probably start using her title.

 

“You and I are going to go up through this main set of caverns here, towards the resort. The MTT has an elevator that will take us right to the castle’s front door and BAM, we’re in.” She has to turn her whole head to look at you as you (possibly on purpose) are standing on her blind side. “If we get separated, keep following the path for New Home and _run_ through the Hall of Judgement. If Sans is really trying to stop you, that’s where he’ll be.”

 

None of that last part makes sense, but you nod anyway, hoping to figure it out on the way because your stomach is churning. If you open your mouth right now, vomit will most certainly fall out like a terrified, acidic waterfall.

 

Undyne stands, all long limbs and lean muscle. You can’t understand why she wears a slow, heavy suit of armor when underneath, she looks like a gold medal sprinter. Surely she could outrun any weapon her enemies used. With fluid grace, she crosses to the door and prepares to leave when…

 

“Aren’t you forgetting something?” _Dr._ Alphys is crooking one claw at her aquatic companion while blushing deeper than a ruby.

 

Remember that grace from before? It’s gone. Undyne slouches severely and waves her arms with frustration. “Aw, man… _c’mon_ … do I _have_ to?”

 

Is that a nosebleed behind Alphys’ hand?

 

“It’s p-part of the p-p-p… plan!”

 

Grumbling loudly about the social status of her friends and several martial arts moves that would be illegal in any legitimate competition, Undyne stomps upstairs fiercely enough to make the escalator rattle. After a short few minutes, she comes back down in a schoolgirl outfit to match yours. Though she looks surly, the long stockings accentuate the curve of her calves and the sailor fuku actually diminishes her shoulders, making her look softer, more feminine.

 

She clearly hates it.

 

You look from Alphys, who is about to pass out from blood loss to Undyne who is hiding her hatred to indulge her… friend and feel only more convinced that the sooner they get together, the better.  _That tracks,_ you think, _all she needs to say is ‘Alphy-chaaaaaan” and they’ll be humping like bunnies. Actually… might want to prevent that._

 

“Well, Alphys thanks for the disguises and the great escape plan, but we’ve got places to go, people to avoid, souls to give, y’know… Byeeeeeeee~!” And with that, you push Undyne out the door and shut it firmly behind you both. You hear a squeal of delight through the automatic doors and smile to yourself.

 

You both look at each other's matching costumes once more. Your Nokia and water canteen are hidden in a place God only knows about while you have neglected to ask where Undyne might be storing backup weapons. Only a few seconds in this heat has already brought about sweat. Undyne steps close and leans down so you are eye-to-eye. "We're about to pull the wool over the eyes of every monster in Hotland with this stunt so let me be crystal fucking clear with you, punk. If you fuck this up... If you are anything less than that perfect little scientist believes you to be... I will end you and throw your remains in the barrier. Understood?"

 

You breathe through your nose and stand at your full height. In a decent imitation of several (read, two) anime you've seen, you plant one hand on your hip and poke her defiantly in the chest. "I don't know who you think I am, but you had better believe that I mean it when I say I'm  _getting_ to the palace and I'm  _giving_ Asgore my soul to save my family and all the monsters in the Underground." You flash her hard eyes. "And I can do it myself if I have to!"

 

Undyne stares at you a long moment, then sniffs and nods. "This way," she says, leading you both into Hotland. 


	16. Elevators to Nowhere

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Action plan "get to New Home" is a go! You and Undyne brave Hotland despite a conflict of personality.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bcXfM-wc30c 
> 
> Happy late winter celebration of your choice, my loves.

Hotland is the diametric opposite of Waterfall, not just in color scheme and temperature, but also in the attitudes of the monsters that choose to live here. The denizens of Waterfall matched their atmosphere, usually calm (with one notable exception) and straightforward with big dreams for the future and the determination to achieve them. Hotland’s citizens obviously all got walloped with the sarcasm stick. A gaggle of school monsters with flashing diamond-shaped faces lay impudently on the rails of one walkway corner, snarking amiably together.

 

“5 pages due tomorrow on the life cycle of volcanoes, _blah blah blah..._ ”

 

“Right. _That’s_ going to happen,” replies an oddly distorted voice from another in a short, plaid skirt, a peculiar buzzing thrumming in time with the flashing of their parti-color face. “Who has time?”

 

"I think Mr. Owens should go study volcanoes...  _from the inside!_ " This witticism is met with snorts and giggles.

 

It makes you feel nostalgic. School years were pretty good for you, the last time you remember having a social life outside your family. If you had known what lazy afternoons avoiding homework would become...

 

You look at Undyne, stalking grumpily ahead of you, no longer bothering to check on you pathetically trotting to keep up. At first, she dutifully stopped every few steps when your short legs didn't match her strident pace, but the longer you spend in each others’ presence, the less she stops and starts. You know that all of her senses are still attuned to her surroundings by the way her ear fins twitch at every sound, but it seems that you, rather than registering as a _constant threat_ to be monitored and observed, have been downgraded to “stupid escort quest”. That seems reasonable. Her paranoia was funny at first but quickly began to wear on your patience and to be honest, now that she has decided you aren't going to bolt, the constant pace of travel is much easier to cope with.

 

“Did you like school, Undyne?” you ask, a little out of breath.

 

She snorts. “Ha! Never had time for it myself.” Her abrupt answer doesn’t invite any follow-up. Really, you can’t imagine the vivacious monster as anything less than a teacher’s biggest pain in school, so there doesn’t seem to be a need to ask why. You both silently ride a long moving walkway past bubbling lava and steaming vents. Squinting back, you can’t even see the island where the lab was anymore. It was the only visible thing for a long while, being multiple stories and bright, fucking white, but now that it's gone from view, you’re left wondering just how large the underground really is. 

 

You try a different approach to cracking the Undyne code. “Sooo… how long have you been with the Royal Guard, then?”

 

“Tch,” she sighs, fixing you with one golden eye. “What? You wanna get buddy-buddy with me? I’ve been in the Guard a long-ass time, ok?” She faces away from you in resolute, stony silence.

 

You bite your lip. The last thing anyone wants is to endure a long journey with someone who hates your guts, and the best way to help someone not to hate you is to get to know them. Thusfar, everything seems to make her angrier, which can only mean that something else is happening in her head. After a moment of thinking, you feel like you might have a solution.

 

“Look,” you say, matter-of-factly, “I’m going to be meeting King Asgore really soon and if I want to get him to… accept my offer, I should know as much about him as possible.”

 

You watch her hard, lean muscled back flex while she thinks on your words. Her fin ears flick a few times, trying to get an irritating lock of red hair out of her face. She scans the moving walkway forward and back, and then decides that she will answer. “Asgore is a great fighter, the best I’ve ever known. He’s the only monster that could defeat my mom. Even so,” here she turns to look at you over her shoulder and grins, “he’s a total WEENIE! All he’s interested in is gardening and making friends. I think he's friends every monster in the underground. He loves to go to schools and read books to kids, go to birthday parties, visit sick monster, that kinda shit.”

 

You both step off the moving walkway and round a corner to see a complicated maze of walkways. Undyne nudges you toward the left side and you see no reason to argue.

 

“I guess that’s what makes him a good leader,” she says thoughtfully. “He’s not in it to boss people around, he just wants to make everyone happy.”

 

“That _is_ good.” You look away and spot an enormous metallic structure protruding out of the lava. This seems to be what all of the walkways are anchored around, keeping it in view. You’ve read here and there about the Core, but a list of dimensions doesn’t really accurately convey how _enormous_ it is. It must have taken years and years to build, not to mention the incredible and important upkeep of the structure that provides power to the whole underground. As you look, the heat of the magma bends the light between you and the Core, making it seem ethereal… not really present.

 

“The queen used to be the one who made all the decisions about ruling," says Undyne, jerking your attention back. "Every time there was bad news to deliver, it would be her making the speeches so he could go out and comfort his people.”

 

You pull your eyes away from the Core. “Used to be?”

 

“Yeah,” she says, nodding to indicate the path you should be taking. It looks like there’s a metal elevator in the distance. How hot is that going to be? “Used to be. She… she’s gone now.”

 

“What, like she’s dead?”

 

“No, punk, like she _left._ ”

 

You frown. “So they’re divorced?”

 

“Monsters don’t get divorced. We _can’t_.” She makes a weird circling gesture in the air with both of her hands that is clearly supposed to illustrate why they can’t, but you’re lost. She snorts with frustration. “I can’t explain how, but once monsters are mated, it’s for life. That doesn’t come undone. We know enough to tell that she’s alive, but not much more.”

 

“Ok, so she’s somewhere out there, just… living?”

 

“Yeah. She left after… after their kids died.”

 

You resist the urge to reach out and touch her elbow comfortingly. The place where there should be a scar on your stomach itches, telling you to quit being dumb. “You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to,” you say instead. “I’ve read about it a bit in books.”

 

You both stop in front of the elevator which says R1 in large, red letters. She pummels the up button several times. “Nah, it’s all right; it was before my time. Way before my time, actually,” she says, then clears her throat and continues. “The kids went through the barrier by themselves. They were going to go get the souls we needed to break it… but the humans attacked and they both died. Mom said it was like… like… all the hope went out of the Underground. No one could get up and go to work, no one could leave the house… a lot of monsters fell down. After a few days, Asgore came out and announced that any humans that fell would be enemies of the state and killed. The next day, she was gone. After a while, everyone else started coming out, started living again.”

 

You both get into the elevator and she presses R3, but it dings with irritation and stubbornly doesn’t move. She tries R2 instead and it seems to accept this better when the doors obligingly slide closed. There must be air conditioning because it's not much hotter inside the elevator than outside.

 

“Did you?”

 

“What?” She looks at you, staring levelly at her.

 

You keep your voice even, but it still comes out quietly. “Did you kill any humans that fell?”

 

Undyne looks at you for a moment longer, then finds something fascinating about the fluorescent lights above. “Yes,” she says. “A little girl in a pink tutu.” Her voice sounds hollow, distant. "I followed her through Waterfell and... killed her."

 

Neither of you speaks for a few seconds, letting that truth hang in the air.

 

“Well then," you say shrugging, "I think I’m supposed to hate you.”

 

Immediately, her anger flares up, “Well, guess what, punk? I never asked-”

 

“No, you misunderstand me,” you say quickly, “I’m obviously _supposed_ to hate you. I don’t know what you know about human culture, but killing children is one of the worst crimes imaginable to us. Once you get to the surface, you _will_ have to deal with the consequences of your actions, but knowing why you did it, and seeing how you feel about it… I just can’t bring myself to hate you.”

 

The elevator dings.

 

You get out together.

 

xXx

 

You and Undyne have stopped at one of the many water coolers that are scattered throughout Hotland. Undyne has needed to stop at every one so far so she can throw several cups of water over her head and shoulders and it’s also convenient for you to refill your canteen, cleverly clipped to the inside of your skirt so it’s hidden enough to preserve the schoolgirl illusion. Luckily, there’s a bench beside this one, so you occupy it and start messing with your phone, wondering if there’s a text function on it. There is not. You also steadfastly refuse to check your voicemail, so without any more functions to distract you, you put it away.

 

It’s hot. _Really_ hot. It’s the kind of heat that burns your throat and lungs, wearing them down to feel like sandpaper. You close your eyes to give them a break from the radiating warmth coming off every surface. On the second level of Hotland, you’ve met several monsters called Vulkins, who were all sweet and friendly, but unbearable to get close to. You’ve also been trailed by an aggressive anthropomorphic airplane that insisted she just _happened_ to be going the same way as you and how _dare_ you insinuate that she would want to talk to you. Exhausting.

 

In between these encounters, you and Undyne talk about the techniques the Royal Guard learn to stop and “contain” humans.

 

“It’s really easy to find you guys because unlike monsters, all humans are shaped the same with the same number of arms and legs and eyes. And? You also only come in shades of brown. _Booooo-ring._ What’s actually hard is pinning you down. With your weird, upside down souls and huge potential for Love, even a wimpy human child could wipe out a whole _village_ before we get there!”

 

From there, the conversation devolves into a trailing discussion of human weapons and fighting styles that you eventually realize are lifted straight from the pile of anime DVDs on Alphys’ nightstand. It’s cute and funny how excited she is and you see no reason to disabuse her of the notion that it’s not akin to real life. You glance at Undyne, trying and failing not to imagine her with her red hair spiked and an enormous sword glowing with her electric blue energy. She looks exhausted, leaning over the water cooler. You can’t imagine what battle must be raging in her head to be traveling with you, talking with you, joking with you, but also protecting you to deliver you to your death. You lean forward and put your head in your hands.

 

The black behind your eyes is nice. Nice and cool. Cool enough for a...

 

You start awake and stare ahead, newfound danger senses tingling. At the corner ahead stand two enormous suits of armor, bouncing slightly and waving swords; clearly deep in conversation. Both monsters look like enormous, muscled rabbits in full plate mail. They haven’t seen you yet, but you’re just sure that they’re about to. Undyne is splashing another cup of cold water over her scales, but you tug her over by the edge of her plaid skirt.

 

“Undyne,” you hiss urgently, ignoring the heat in your cheeks. “Don’t look now, but there’s two Royal Guards over there and they’re coming this way. Kiss me!”

 

“What?” she whispers back, eyes wide and disbelieving. “This is no time to act out your disgusting interspecies fetishes…”

 

“No, no!” you nod to the guards rounding the corner. “They’re looking for _me_ , but they won’t question _you_ … so kiss me.”

 

Time is running out. The guards will only be distracted by each other for so long and Undyne knows it. There’s no way the two of you will be missed on this narrow walkway with no other monsters in sight, so she turns to you and sets her shoulders. She’s so much taller than you that she has to lean over quite far and put her hands on your shoulders to keep from falling. You tip your head up and let your eyes partially close, leaning in, and…

 

_Peck_

 

Her lips barely brush… not quite your lips? Then she’s standing upright again with her hands to herself, muttering darkly and not looking at you.

 

Indignantly, you tug the front of her blouse so she has to lean back down. “That was the _worst_ kiss I’ve ever received!” you hiss. “I feel sorry for Alphys if _that’s_ what you think kissing is like. _This_ is what a kiss is like,” and with that, you take her chin in hand and crash your lips over hers with firm, demanding pressure.

 

She stiffens at once, but gets over her shock quickly and grasps you in a tight embrace, her arms nearly wrapping entirely around you. You tease her lips with the tip of your tongue, producing a satisfying shudder. Her skin is cool and smooth like you would expect, but the inside of her mouth is hot and wanting when she opens to your insistence. You draw her thin lower lip into a gentle nibble from your teeth, exploring and demonstrating the many ways one can use their mouth to produce pleasurable sensations. She gets the idea right away, accidentally piercing your sensitive lips with her sharp canines. A hot trickle of iron and copper note gradually mingles with the taste of her mouth; surprising, but not unpleasant.

 

Meanwhile, one guard has nudged the other and gestures to their captain and her busy activity, wiggling their armored ears suggestively. It seems distressingly like they’re intending to stay and watch the show until you let one hand casually drift under Undyne’s short skirt on the side facing them, subtly flashing them a clue to _move the fuck along._ The seriousness of the situation, possibly combined with a healthy fear of the good captain’s wrath is finally enough to encourage them to round the corner and disappear down the moving walkways; back the way you came.

 

A comical sucking noise signals the separation of your faces. Smoothing and retucking your blouse gives you an excuse not to look at the dazed expression on Undyne’s face so she can compose herself. You utterly fail to hide a little smile at the thought that Alphys will soon be getting more than she expected.

 

“We have to move quickly, now,” Undyne barks, almost at her usual level of briskness. “According to the plan, there’s only 15 minutes until school’s out and we can use the cover of other students to make it through the resort.”

 

“Which way, captain?” you say, making your face all seriousness again.

 

Right away, she sets a quick pace down an invisibly suspended walkway, further into Hotland and thus, further into the heat.

 

xXx

 

The MTT resort is a sight to behold in this land of scraping by. Every surface is glitzy, blinged, and/or bedazzled. There are so many pictures of the boxy robot that has slapped his name on every possible surface that there could be no possible doubt who owns the place. Undyne’s distasteful expression probably matches your own, but you go together anyway.

 

“The only elevator down to New Home is here,” she says in what passes for a whisper for her. “The other path is through the Core and while it’s less crowded, it will also take a lot longer. Don’t get separated!”

 

That proves to be much more easily said than done. The lobby of the resort is _packed._ Everyone seems to be on their cellphones, all hurrying back and forth with suitcases and briefcases and backpacks. Your shortness proves to be a boon for once as you can slip under arms and tentacles without too much fuss and Undyne is skinny and flexible, so she also manages well until you both discover a problem: the elevator doors are on the other side of the lobby and there’s an enormous line that wraps twice around a garish, golden fountain and statue of Mettaton. It will take at least an hour to wait through this line for the solo elevator.

 

Undyne looks at you, shrugs, then pulls out an official looking badge and starts flashing it left and right, bellowing at the resort patrons.

 

“OFFICIAL ROYAL GUARD BUSINESS! CAPTAIN HERE! I AM COMMANDEERING THIS ELEVATOR IN THE NAME OF KING FLUFFY--- I mean, KING ASGORE! MOVE ASIDE!!”

 

You make yourself small and follow in her wake through the throng of disgruntled monsters. Though they aren’t happy, they are compliant enough to make you think that this kind of thing must happen fairly regularly. In only a few moments, you are both at the front of the line. Unfortunately, her official Royal Guard badge can’t make the elevator go faster, so now you both have to stand there. It’s a little uncomfortable to wait with the people you just skipped, but Undyne’s face is like stone, daring the others to say anything about it.

 

Suddenly, you feel a tickle at your knee and you unconsciously slap it away. Looking down, you see nothing but a few green leaves on the ground, probably from the fake, glittery ficus in the corner, but when you look back up, trouble is brewing.

 

A big monster has waded through the crowd and is standing aggressively behind you. It is the size of a refrigerator and covered in thick fur, all dark blue, except for its piercing, ice-colored eyes.

 

“Royal Guard,” it growls in a voice so low your toes curl. “Your place is not at the front.”

 

Undyne puffs up, but the effect is lost somewhat by her incognito outfit. “Yeah, punk? And who are you?”

 

“I’ve been waiting in line for half an hour and so have these good monsters behind me,” it shudders and crackles in a way that reminds you of an alley thug cracking his knuckles, but you can’t see what that gesture would translate to through the monster's thick, blue fur. “So unless you have a good reason, you’d better _get back in line._ ” A chorus of ‘yeah’s!’ ring out behind him. It seems the mood of the room is rising.

 

The captain of the guard growls beside you, an ominous sound that reminds one of a rattlesnake’s warning: she is not going to take this lying down. “Look here, you enormous hairball, we’re the ones out there keeping your asses safe from humans every day! If I say I’ve got official business, then you need to _back off!!_ ”

 

“When was the last time you faced a human?” it returns, roaring and stamping enormous clawed feet. “Humans haven’t been seen for _decades_ ! It’s all ‘do this’ and ‘move aside’ and ' _I’ve got a golden badge that makes me superior'_!"

 

A little, multi-legged monster pops up beside him, blinking her many eyes, “Whose rights have been ignored more than the spiders? The Guard was supposed to protect _everyone_! Where is our justice?”

 

This has the potential to become a full-scale riot. The air tastes like electricity and you’re pretty sure it’s not just Undyne’s energy. You press yourself back against the elevator doors and they slide open, dropping you to the floor inside.

 

“Undyne!” you call, “Undyne, get in!”

 

But she obviously can’t hear you. From somewhere, a bottle is thrown and shatters into the elevator car. She launches herself into the crowd with a roar, narrowly evading your fingers trying to grip her shirt and pull her back in. Back at the entrance doors, you see two pairs of familiar metal encased ears that announce the arrival of the cavalry and probably more trouble.

 

“Undyne!” you call once more, but the elevator dings and the doors slide closed. You are alone again, looking at your stunned expression in the shining metal. The elevator begins to descend quickly. After a moment, you brush your hair out of your eyes and take out your phone.

 

Damn. No signal.

 

You call Undyne anyway and leave her a message that if she doesn’t end up in the hospital from her brawl, to come and meet you at the Hall of Judgement because you’re going on. The phone promises that your message will be delivered the moment signal returns, whenever that is.

 

Your thumb hovers for a very, very long moment over Sans’ name. What could you possibly say? How could he ever forgive you for what you’re going to do? Maybe his freedom will be enough of an “I’m sorry.”

 

You doubt it.

 

Your thumb scrolls to another name instead.

  
“Hey Toriel, it’s me…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DC: 6
> 
> Where is Sans? What could he possibly be doing all this time?


	17. The Great Hall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Have you finally reached the end?

What feels like hours later, the elevator dings merrily and the doors slide open.

 

You've been waiting in the corner of the elevator car holding your canteen. It must still be about a quarter full of warm water from the fountains in Hotland. Warm water is not nearly as refreshing as cool water, but it was a longer elevator ride than anyone could have expected. You think that you might have descended through the layer of magma that supports the Core. Logically, this means that New Home and Asgore's Castle are further in the earth than the resort hotel you just left, but then you remember that you watched the rise of the beautiful castle from Waterfall. Waterfall, a lovely realm that is... much closer to the surface. So, really, who knows? You call magical geology bullshit and get out of the elevator.

 

Here is the vast city laid out before you, built of gleaming sandstone walls and elegant parapets capped by red clay tiles. You pause along a high wall, distracted by the multitude of sights. That might be the prestigious monster university there. That looks like a busy farmer’s market, monsters rushing to and fro. _That_ looks like a playground filled with small monsters, all wearing striped clothing and running about furiously. Just how many monsters are trapped underground? Before now, the underground seemed small, close-knit; a series of friendly communities. Looking out at the urban density, it becomes apparent just how many lives are dependent... on you.

 

You feel courageous.

 

Much to your consternation, there are many other monsters stopped on this wall also admiring the view, but fortunately, they seem not to notice you at all. They huddle together in pairs and trios, whispering about something to each other; something exciting.

 

“Aren’t you happy?”

 

“You _should_ be excited! It’s finally happening!”

 

“I knew it couldn’t be much longer.”

 

For one very long moment, you hover near a pair of whimsun, straining your ears to catch what they could mean. You don’t hear anything specific, but the longer you listen, the more there is a disturbing sinking feeling in your stomach. You wish Undyne were here. She might know what they're talking about.

 

When the whimsun turn to see who was listening, you are gone.

 

You break into a sprint, dodging the many loitering monsters and hoping to spot a sign or something pointing to the castle. Something tells you that your race is running out. It’s like a gripping feeling in your chest. Or maybe that’s a stitch. The high wall turns once more then stops abruptly at a pair of tall, open doors like that of an enormous cathedral.

 

Though both your parents were very religious, the God gene never really made it down to you. As a consequence, you have seen the insides of very few churches. Even so, you recognize that this magnificent structure is unique. For one, there are no crosses, saints, beatific paintings or any sort of Christian symbolism displayed anywhere. There are also no Star of Davids, Arabic writings, statues of deities, or prayer mats. This seems to be an entirely monster structure, uninspired by anything human. On the inside of the huge wooden and iron doors, you see the curious triangle and wing symbol that has been carved many other places. This design is repeated in the golden stained glass windows, through which the “dawn” of the monsters’ day is pouring. Dancing pink and orange light illuminates identically carved flagstones, sparkling slightly with wisps of dust. It makes you feel both hopeful and apprehensive.

 

You don’t feel worthy to pass through here, but Alphys assured you this is best and quickest way to the king. Maybe you can be forgiven for desiring expediency? With a feeling of trespassing, you tiptoe in.

 

It is silent inside. No pews, no pulpit; just a cavernous, empty space glowing with sublime brilliance. High in the ambulatory, a smooth granite stone the size of a house bears the deeply carved inscription “HALL of JUDGEMENT”. Soooo... not a church, then.

 

_Beep_

 

Your phone makes a noise in your pocket. Thankful for a distraction from the consuming silence, you check it. Low battery. That’s annoying. Actually, you think again, that's really strange because you haven’t had to charge the phone since Toriel gave it to you. It's gotten to the point that you figured monster energy and batteries just worked differently; like those flashlights that you shake to charge. You thought that thing was going to last forever. It sits in your hand, teasing you with a flashing red light. Well… maybe it won’t be a problem for much longer.

 

You look around the hall and feel the squeezing of your heart again, more intensely. You know for a fact that you have never set foot in this hall before, but it has a feeling of warmth and familiarity. Something about the... stillness?

 

Now might be the right time when the elevator wasn’t.

 

You quickly scroll through your contacts and thumb the one for “Bone Buddy”. He entered his own number. Obviously.

 

_Riiiiing… Riiii-_

 

_Beep_

 

Dead.

 

You feel your sins crawling on your back.

 

“Please understand,” you breathe and press the phone to your lips, hoping maybe he can hear you. “I’m sorry.”

 

_Rustle, rustle._

 

Who’s there?

 

BOOOOOONNNG!!

 

“JESUS!” You shriek, whirl in a circle, and fall on your ass. Ouch. _Idiot_. It was just the church bell ringing. The next few rings, now that you know they’re coming, don’t sound nearly as terrifying. Pride damaged, you stand, check your pockets, and exit through the back of the cathedral where you've found a little, easily-missed door.

 

After the open beauty of the hall, the narrow corridor after seems grey and dull, but also somehow safer. Maybe you just became really used to having walls on all sides or maybe there aren't any more distractions, but now you’re able to travel more quickly, following the only possible path through an old stone archway. First, you see a tree; an old, sprawling beauty spreading her branches up to another high cavern ceiling. Under her is a soft, but enticingly crunchy carpet of lightly colored leaves. Upon entering, you kick a few back and forth for a moment, then look up and nearly fall back again.

 

It’s Toriel’s home.

 

Tears creep into the corners of your eyes as you find the strength to approach, but also gradually realize that’s it’s not the same safe place you found in the ruins after your initial fall. This house appears to be newer, and the tree out front, younger, but most importantly, there is no smell of baking. Cautiously, you go to the closed door, a familiar shade of faded purple, and knock. It swings open. “Hello?” you call, half expecting to hear a motherly monster voice invite you in and admonish you for being late to dinner. But no one answers.

 

The inside is just as heartbreakingly familiar as the outside, but with little things out of place. Wrong books on the shelves; bed on the wrong side of the room;  golden flowers instead of cattails. You wrinkle your nose at a vase of sunny petals, imagining one smiling serenely at you all the while whipping your flesh with thorny vines.

 

It’s a terrible memory. Maybe one of your worst.

 

Slowly, you descend the stairs into another long corridor that ends in two arches pointing opposite directions. From one, you hear some birdsong. Probably some poor sparrows that took a wrong turn and now are also trapped underground. The other archway is dark. Maybe more to postpone the inevitable than anything else, you descend the stairs on the other side. You immediately wish you hadn’t. A row of tiny, child-sized coffins is not what you needed to bolster your courage, even if there are colorful hearts lovingly carved and inset with precious stones on the lids. The stone wall feels cool against your forehead as you lean there to gather yourself. Your hand finds the cap of your old, beaten up canteen and delivers the last of its water to your trembling lips. There's nothing else to wait for now so you return up the stairs.

 

Here is a courtyard garden, full to bursting with sunshine-yellow blossoms and living green things. Light is softly streaming through high windows partially covered by hanging flowers and curling leaves. This is the first place you’ve seen since your fall that has properly growing grass covering the floor. The temptation to take off your shoes and sink down into nature’s green carpet is nigh overwhelming and you’re almost on the point of removing your boots… until you hear a cheerful whistle.

 

At the other end of the beautiful garden are three things of note: a huge throne made of gold and purple velvet that could easily hold two, maybe three of you; another equally massive chair-like shape covered by a dusty white sheet; and a monster whose back is to you, also covered by a fortune of gold and purple velvet. Long white ears poke out from under a gleaming blonde mane of hair, only slightly mussed by two widely curving horns. It doesn’t take a genius to discern that this, at long last, is the one monster you are both hoping and dreading to meet.

 

You just watch him garden for a moment. He’s so careful and precise with the little flowers, each easily crushes by a misplaced claw. First, he pokes his paw into the soft earth, then delicately places the blossom in and swipes the dirt back to securely pack it in place. Then, with a miniature golden watering can, he moistens the disturbed dirt to give the flower a drink. Over and over, with the same practiced motions, he fills the throne room with life.

 

“Hello?” you say, having finally grown tired of your own stalling.

 

“Just a moment! I have almost finished watering these flowers.” His voice is smooth and pleasant, deep enough to hum in your bones. Someone you would like to read a story to you, you think.

 

“T-take your time,” you say, a little quietly, feeling your heart beat faster.

 

“Nonsense! I would hate to keep a friend waiting,” he says with a chuckle that rolls like thunder. He claps two giant, furred paws together to brush away the remaining dirt and stands to face you, smiling. “Howdy! How can I----,” and that’s as far as he gets before he chokes on his greeting.

 

King Asgore is an _enormous_ monster. When he stands, the purple cloak hanging from his shoulders is twice as tall as you  _and_ as broad as a family-sized sofa. You have little doubt that under the soft white fur, he is made entirely of muscle; the way he moves, recoiling from you, but then quickly regaining his balance, is evidence enough of that. Each footfall is elegant but restrained, as though every step is carefully regulated to control his crushing weight. To you, he seems larger than life, but then you remember how large Toriel seemed at first and decide that in the underground male monsters must typically be larger than females of the same type, just like the surface. You stand a little straighter and bow to him, trying to put your respect for him into the action. Your hair swings over your face as you do, forcing you to less than gracefully throw it over your shoulder.

 

The king nods slowly as he stares at you. You notice that he wears a simple gold crown on his well-groomed blonde hair, really the only visible symbol of his royal title.

 

“Hello,” you say again, almost at a loss for words now that you’re here. “I’m a human.”

 

“Yes, yes I see.” He looks away and clasps his hands behind his back, which has the unfortunate consequence of pulling back the plush purple cape. Underneath, he is wearing blackened steel armor, polished to a magnificent sheen. It seems of an older style than even Undyne’s, held together with stubborn leather thongs and shining copper rivets. Somewhere, you remember reading about how long the king and queen have been alive and think that this antique suit of armor must be proof.

 

“I’ve come a long way to see you,” you say, digging in the dirt a little with the toe of your boot.

 

“Yes,” Asgore says with a sigh, “I am sure you have.” He looks back at you with a sadder, lonelier smile. “I so badly want to say, ‘would you like a cup of tea’ but... you know how it is.”

 

Though you feel strongly about the situation, it is becoming apparent that nothing useful is going to happen at this rate. You draw yourself up to your full, less-than-impressive height and declare in a firm, steady voice, “Your… Majesty, I am here to offer you my soul.”

 

King Asgore’s mouth falls open, revealing thick, blunt tusks. He looks back to you with sharp, piercing eyes and seems to brace himself. “My child,” he says, the familiar address making your throat constrict, “Do you understand what you are asking?”

 

You nod, unable to trust your voice to work properly. He seems disappointed by your answer and sighs deeply once more. “I see.” He straightens his shoulders, which rattles his golden pauldrons, and paces back and forth around the garden once or twice, not speaking further.

 

“Please understand,” you say, determined to make him accept your offer as quickly as possible. “I have seen the suffering of your people, their hope to return to the surface… and the power of their ambitions and dreams. It’s _my_ people that are responsible for their despair, their poor treatment for centuries. It only makes sense that I should seek to make amends.” You march up to him and reach up to touch his elbow. “I offer you my soul to break the barrier and free your people.”

 

His heavy horns dip one way and the other as he listens. At length, he pats your tiny hand with one paw. “As you will. Please come with me.”

 

You follow him beyond the throne room, down a short, narrow hallway and into another room so alive and thrumming with magic, it makes your teeth ache. Here is a yawning void that appears both empty and full at the same time. You can hardly understand nor describe what you are seeing. Once, your family went to a laser light show for an Independence Day festival. Every building, tree, and fountain were lit up with vibrating, multicolored lights, all emanating from unknown sources. As a child, you were fascinated and tried to catch the lights in your hands like fireflies, but were both delighted and disappointed to learn that the lights couldn't be caught, only used to see pictures and shapes on whatever surface they touched. It's the closest possible analogy you can find.

 

“This is the barrier,” says the king of all monsters. “This is what keeps us all trapped underground.” His voice is slow and ponderous. It seems by the bulge under his cape that he has clasped his hands behind his back again while he gazes at the strangely colored wonder.

  

“It’s hard to think that something so beautiful could be so awful.”

 

He takes a deep breath, so deep the leather of his armor creaks and shudders. “Yes. Yes, I quite agree.” He still doesn't turn to look at you. "If you are ready, then we should proceed."

 

"Yes. I am ready." You kneel, folding your hands demurely in your lap and look up at the barrier. You hear the shifting of metal and leather behind you, then three, sharp points rest heavily across your shoulder blades. The weight is enough to make your head and shoulders bow forward.

 

“Goodbye, human,” rumbles Asgore’s forlorn voice. “It was nice meeting you.”

 

“Goodbye, Frisk,” you whisper, closing your eyes. “Goodbye… Sans.” You heart flutters like a bird in a cage; as though it knows that it’s running out of beats and is struggling pointlessly to get free.

 

The weight lifts from your shoulders and you feel your feet twitch, urging you to run away, to fling yourself to one side. _At least die fighting_ , says your heart. _Don’t let it just… end._

 

You are filled with courage.

 

_No._

 

You wait for the final blow.

 

And wait.

 

And… wait?

 

“ _Uuuuurrkkkk…”_

 

You look around behind you in alarm.

 

Asgore looks shorter.

 

Exactly _one head_ shorter.

 

His dust swirls slowly through the air to reveal…

 

Flowey.

 

“Howdy!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DC: 7


	18. In the Garden

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please enjoy the following as they were inspiration for the creation of the final chapter of the first act.
> 
> Golijov, Last Round, mvt 1. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=t31jXH9BMDI  
> Golijov, Last Round, mvt 2. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7VkS1B0N4gc  
> Prokofiev, Romeo and Juliet, part VII. (Especially 3:40) https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wmCCGVQVR4A

You’re not sure whether you’ve just had enough for one day, or whether nearly losing your life has taken all the crazy out of you, but all you can do is stand, and  _ stare _ , and  _ think _ . It feels surprisingly calm… and cold. 

 

“You…” you finally say, redundantly. “It’s you.”

 

“Howdy! Thought you wouldn’t see little old me again, huh? I just saved your life!” He waggles his shining green leaves enthusiastically like a puppy that has just shat magnificently on the floor and expects praise.

 

“That’s one way of putting it.” You glance around behind Flowey, expecting to see something more, like another person or an army of mutant flora,  _ something else, _ but there’s nothing. Just Flowey. “Why are you here?”

 

His face changes suddenly, twisting into a childlike expression of hurt. “Aren’t you happy to see me?”

 

“Not particularly.” You have started to feel a little nauseous and your words come out harshly. Wait, maybe we  _ shouldn’t _ irritate the regicidal florabomination, you think without being able to shake the rising taste of dread. Something is disturbingly wrong here; something you should be figuring out. Is it too quiet? Should you be able to hear the monsters living in the city outside these walls? Are there no servants in this palace? Only the subaudible hum of the barrier reminds you that your ears are working.

 

Flowey doesn’t seem offended by your bluntness or your wandering attention. “That’s too bad!” he chirrups, “I came to see YOU! You, the special human!”

 

Your eyebrow quirks. “Me? Special? How?”

 

“So many questions! Let’s just say that of all the humans in the Underground, you are  _ one _ of them!”

 

The air feels stifling.  _ Frisk _ ...  _ Does he know about Frisk? _ “What is that supposed to mean?” you say lightly, hoping to conceal your thrill of fear.

 

Flowey smiles and wiggles in a way that doesn’t lend confidence to your bluffing skills. “It means that you have something. Something  _ special _ . Something…  _ powerful _ . And I want it.”

 

Now you’re good and confused. If he wanted Frisk, wouldn’t he just say that? You check your pockets while racking your brains for what he could mean. “Like… what?”

 

“You know what! Your ability to change events, your ability to manipulate people, your ability to  _ keep coming back _ … I want it.”

 

You laugh nervously as much to humor him as to give you time to figure out what he could be talking about. “I don’t think that’s really a  _ power _ , I think it’s just… just…” You stop and peer at him. Something clicks in your brain and you gasp, “...It’s been you all along, hasn’t it? You fucked with my phone. You shut Undyne out of the elevator… it was  _ you _ who told me that Asgore wanted to kill me in the first place! I bet you knew I’d do something stupid, didn’t you? Like coming here… right where you wanted to be. And you made me be your distraction! I’m so stupid…  _ stupid! _ ” You grip your head with both hands like you can shake the bad decisions out. “I should have  _ told _ someone. I should have asked for help! I should have… I should have asked Sans.” No room for remorse, you stop your self-pity spiral in its tracks and whirl furiously back, shaking your finger threateningly. “Well, NO MORE. Whatever it is you want… you CAN’T HAVE IT! Do you hear me? NO!!!”

 

Flowey’s glowing, rapturous smile doesn’t slip an inch. If anything, it becomes more sickeningly grotesque. His smile grows and grows, wider than you thought possible and sporting wicked, sharp teeth that stretch into jagged, uneven fangs. He shudders, and then rises right out of the ground on his roots until he can stare at you right in the eyes, but he doesn’t stop growing there. Long, twiggy, spindly roots pop out of the ground around him, spreading away from his stem like the angled legs of an overlarge insect, which then swell and sprout hideous thorns. Two such stalks in front reshape themselves painfully into something like crab claws, which would be comically unbalanced on him were they not twice your size and poised to snap you in half. His soulless black eyes bore straight into yours and your heart jumps into your throat. A sharp, amber glow leaps from your chest, throwing dancing light around the overwhelmed barrier room, illuminating the monster in front of you.

 

You feel  _ terrified _ .

 

“HUMAN,” Flowey says in a ruthless voice you haven’t heard before, “I want to BE your FRIEND!”

 

He whips one vine at you and startles your soul right out of your chest. It’s too fast for you to dodge, so you do the only thing you can think of and throw your arms around your flashing amber soul in self-defence, earning a burning welt across both forearms. You peek out and see blood well up in the jagged cut, but with relief, you see that your soul is unharmed. The purpose of his strike becomes apparent when the wall behind you crumbles into rubble with a crash, showing the back of the throne room garden and the vast capital city beyond. 

 

“Look what I have done FOR YOU!” When you stand still, paralyzed by apprehension, he grows impatient and with one vine like an iron beam pushes you unceremoniously to the disheveled palace wall.

 

You look out onto New Home. The streets are silent. The buildings look still. The magical day and night cycle seems frozen at just after midday, light shining brightly. Everywhere, you notice soft shapes through the streets, slumped on benches and huddled together and realize that they are all monsters, collapsed where they stood. Around each, grows a viny plant with a bright, sunshine yellow blossom growing out the top. This is why you couldn’t hear the noise of New Home: they’ve all fallen down to fuel your personal nightmare.

 

You look away, it’s too horrible.

 

Flowey towers over you now. His body seems like a hulking cephalopod, bending over to see your awful reaction. Not only have his vines thickened and the thorns turned toxic pink and purple, he appears to have grown extra faces, but not in the way faces should go. These are much more like Picasso faces, stuck in random spots with too many or not enough eyes and gnashing teeth. More interestingly, though, are things that look like throbbing metal intestines protruding from his main stalk. Each glows with a familiar, but different color. They seem out of place in his entirely flora body, so they must be significant. But how?

 

At that moment, you catch sight of your vibrating soul, glowing a warm, offended amber, and it makes sense.  _ He has human souls in him. He has the other six. Any one of them could wipe out the entirety of monsterkind, but he’s going to use them to kill me... And  _ then _ probably everyone else that he’s using like a magical battery. _ You feel sick.  _ There will be no one left. _

 

And with a maniacal, insane laugh, Flowey comes at you.

 

You wish you could say that it was a glorious and heroic fight; that you were agile and strong and cunning just like every heroine should be, raining blows down on your enemy, cleverly dodging here and there just out of reach. You wish that you could go back to grind and level up and become a super-powered, monster fighting machine, capable of punching the hearts right out of him, but the truth is that Flowey, with his six human souls to your one, is  _ overwhelming _ . You get in a few lucky dodges while he calibrates his fighting style to accommodate his new, huge size, but the inevitable comes all too soon and he catches you in a vine, dragging you away from the city back into the garden cum throne room.

 

One long, green vine with hundreds of little, pricking rose thorns holds you tightly from neck to knee. Every breath, every minuscule, involuntary movement causes the thorns to dig in a little further. It is torturous. You try desperately to hold still, but who could help the thousand little tics that humans make every second?

 

“Now,” says Flowey in a pleasant voice that does nothing to hide his malice, “Where were we before you started slinging accusations? Ah, yes.  _ Your power. _ ”

 

“I told you, I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you pant, trying to both catch your breath and prevent his thorns from drawing blood. Well, more blood.

 

“Indeed. I also recall you saying that you should have asked for help? Well, aren’t you lucky? I happen to have help  _ right here. _ ”

 

A mound of earth rises in the garden’s green grass. The sunny, golden flowers wither and fall away so the sod can break open to reveal…

 

“SANS!”

 

A plant like a sapling tree shoots out of the ground and spears him up through the cavity of his pelvis and torso and out the opening between his spine and clavicles like a lifeless marionette. The branch then lifts his ragged, broken body out of the ground for your viewing pleasure. There are no lights in his eyes. His beloved blue hoodie is torn, nearly hanging off him, and stained with something pink and spongy, the source of which is immediately obvious: many of Sans’ bones are cracked and a few are broken open, leaking their marrow freely. Judging by the marks and knobs on his bones, Sans’ magic has been trying to heal him, but there are a lot of wounds to care for.

 

“Come on now, smiley trashcan; say hello to your girlfriend!” Flowey shakes Sans so violently that his bones clatter together. The skeleton groans, a thin, weak sound, but does not rouse to consciousness. “Hm. I was hoping for a more  _ stirring _ reunion,” the plant says in an offhanded way. “He was quite talkative earlier; something about how I had tricked you and that he would do anything to stop me. I think he was trying to trade his soul for yours at one point. Very cavalier.”

 

Your face is wet. Why is your face wet? It’s getting in the way of your eyes straining to see your skeleton. Why is there no trace of his blue magic? Will he die if he loses all his marrow? What was he thinking? Why did he come for you?

 

“Are you familiar with the human myth of the bamboo?” says Flowey, interrupting your thoughts.

 

You chew on the inside of your lip and shake your head, trembling.

 

The vine squeezes you sharply, pricking you again with its many thorns. You cry out and feel a trickle of blood dampen your sock.

 

“LOOK AT ME! Look at me when I talk to you!” His mad, rolling red eyes watch for your answer. After a moment, you shake your head ‘no’ again, this time pointedly looking at him, but it’s not really true. You know plenty about bamboo… and its uses.

 

“They say it is one of the the fastest growing plants on the surface.” One vine stretches out between you and Sans and shakes free several blood-red thorns. They drop to the ground and bury themselves in the dirt, wriggling like lizards. “Once,” Flowey says, like an indulgent parent starting a child’s favorite bedtime story. “There was a troublesome, little  _ monkey _ .”

 

CRASH

 

The violet branch disappears into the ground, dragging its bony cargo down with it. Sans slams into the sod, now torn up from his arrival and sporting several hard rocks. It’s hard to understand how Sans could still have the strength to hold himself together. You suppose that you’ve never heard his bones clatter like this before because he always shaped his body with magic suit himself. There’s no trace of magic now, just white, bleached bones.

 

“And this little monkey was a  _ thorn _ in the side of much better, smarter,  _ stronger _ beings.” Flowey preens with pleasure as he tells the story, his petals fluffing, roots settling into a more aesthetically pleasing pattern before continuing, “...who found his presence…  _ distasteful. _ So one day, the gods decided to teach the stupid monkey trash a lesson.” With one root, Flowey rolls Sans to the patch of grass where the thorns buried themselves.

 

Something in that movement catches your eye. What’s that sparkle? You aren’t close enough to see, but there’s definitely something shiny curled up in Sans’ hand. Before you can guess, the grass begins to tremble. There is a nasty, acrid smell and blood-red bamboo stalks shoot out of the ground into his bones. You wince, unable to turn away.  _ At least, _ you think,  _ he’s unconscious, so he probably didn’t feel it. _ You forlornly consider his empty eyes and limp, dangling form. He might be too far gone to absorb any more pain at all; just a waiting game to see how much more it takes for him to die. You make yourself look closer and find the source of the sparkle tumbled into the grass.

 

It’s your compass. Frisk must have given it to him.

 

If you really squint, you can just make out the little needle. To your surprise, it isn’t spinning wildly anymore. Instead, it points first to Sans, then to you, then back at Sans… then back at you. Clearly, this is a deliberate message, but you don’t know what it could be. Are you supposed to be closer together? You look around Sans, maybe trying to see something magnetic laying around, and spy the tiniest little light in one eye, which catches you looking and quickly goes back out.

 

He’s awake! More importantly, he’s still alive. Oh, no. That probably means that he felt every single second of those bamboo shoots piercing his bones. You pretend that your gasp of surprise at Sans’ sign of life is really one of concern for his predicament; not a hard sell.

 

“You would do anything, would you not?” 

 

“What?” you say, confused. Flowey must have finished his story while you were thinking. He looks down at you with lazily hooded eyes, still bright red and asymmetrical above a fanged grin. It’s difficult to meet his gaze but now you need to keep the pretense of defeat alive.

 

“You,” he repeats slowly, as though you are extremely dense, “would do anything for that  _ disgusting _ sack of bones, right?”

 

“Yes,” you answer without hesitation. 

 

His thorns savagely pierce the skin of your aching thighs as he pulls you up to his dreadful face, several feet off the ground, and he speaks with ghastly quiet. “Then give it to me.”

 

With all your will, you prevent yourself from shrinking away which would twist the thorns only more painfully. “I c-c-can’t,” you stammer, heart pounding with fear.

 

The roar that then escaped his mouth could deafen you and all others in a 5 mile radius. “GIVE! ME! YOUR! POWER!!!”

 

You shake hopelessly in the thick, terrible vines; the only thing preventing a fall that could break your legs. Like a frightened bunny in a trap, you can only whisper, “I don’t know how.”

 

Another monstrous scream of frustration erupts from his hideous, sap-dripping mouth. For several seconds you can’t hear anything but ringing. You can only watch Flowey’s enraged flapping face in dumb horror. His vines thrash through the air, slamming into walls and twisting furiously upon themselves. Plants fly through the air trailing shredded petals like sad confetti onto every surface, thrown by his powerful temper tantrum. Stones shake loose from the garden walls; so many, the light of the barrier is shining more brightly than the magical sun outside. You can’t imagine how someone outside the palace wouldn’t think that a nuclear bomb hasn’t gone off, but there is no royal guard coming to your aid. They must all have fallen down, too. You, meanwhile, are shaken about like a rag doll, jerking violently along.

 

His anger goes on and on, destructive and all consuming, but not even a psychotic plant abomination can throw a temper tantrum forever. After a few more petulant flails, Flowey finally slumps his massive body in the corner, holding you close. You finally have a moment to breathe and tenderly stretch your whiplashed neck. You think that your hearing just about returning when a voice pierces the quiet, shivering fallout.

 

“if… i… help… her… will you let… her go?”

 

“What did you say? What did you say you worthless heap of garbage?”

 

“i can help… give you what you want… if you free her.”

 

Flowey peers down at Sans greedily, thinking over this proposition. You can almost  _ see _ the thought process:  _ I’ll get what I want, _ he thinks, _ but I have to give up my toys. I could always kill them later, but I really want to kill them now... _

 

You close your eyes, hardly daring to breathe, wildly trying to guess what Sans’ game is.

 

“Do it,” Flowey snarls.

 

He lowers you to a safeish height (only one story high), then drops you. Thinking only of the compass and Sans, you pretend that you don’t land securely (also not a hard sell) and collapse to one side dramatically. Dirt, stinging, scratching dirt, immediately gets into all of your fresh thorn wounds, but with a quick hand and a little shaky acting, you get the compass into your pocket and rush over to Sans.

 

“Sans,” you whisper urgently over his broken body, “Sans, are you alright?”

 

You remember laying beside him at night, watching his chest rise and fall with no lungs to expand under his ribs. You remember laying your head on his sternum, hearing a faint heartbeat, but finding nothing when wandering fingers later explored his hot, rough bones. You remember laying kisses on the vertebrae of his neck, reminiscent of a throat that pulses with life, but completely without any proof of such. You realize now that all these pretenses of humanity were indications of his deeply resonant, magical life force and that with his marrow draining away into the throne room’s grass, there isn’t much left to sustain the illusion. His bones are cold. His body doesn’t move with life. Sans can only lay there and hurt while he urgently whispers to you, “he… he has… the hu- human...”

 

“Ssh, ssh, I know,” you say quietly, unsure whether to touch him. “I saw them. Where are Frisk and Papyrus?”

 

“s-safe. safe in snowdin.”

 

You allow yourself one sigh of relief. It’s not much, but it will have to do. 

 

“you’re bleeding,” he says, touching your arm with extreme gentleness. Your fresh blood looks neon against his white finger bones.

 

Probably too harshly, you seize his hand and press it to your face. Bless him, he doesn’t even flinch. Your lips brush against his hand while you whisper to him, “Sans, what are we going to do? I don’t think we’re going to just…  _ walk _ out of here. He’s going to have to kill us both because I have  _ no idea _ how to give him what he wants!”   
  


“don’t say ‘yes’ to him.” He shudders and for the second time, a little light comes into his eye sockets, gazing at your face. “magic... is intent… say yes, he can get it.”

 

“Ok. Ok, I won’t.” His ribs creak as they rise and fall once. A little droplet of water splashes onto his chest, mixing with your neon blood prints and you finally,  _ finally _ understand that you’re weeping. “Sans, I’m so sorry. I’ve fucked it all up. I should have told you what he said to me and all of this would never have happened.”

 

“ssh,” he says, brushing his cracked thumb on your cheek, wiping away a tear. “you didn’t know. remember… don’t say yes…” He takes his hand away from your face and rests all of his fingers on your chest, around where your heart beats. After a moment, he pulls away, crooks one finger and your soul, which has been floating neurotically close, jerks and soars away high into the sky, shining brightly enough to light all the hidden crevasses of the garden. Sans, you see, has used all his strength and returned to unconsciousness. You touch his shoulder, afraid to do more. 

 

“I love you,” you whisper, then turn away.

 

Flowey’s eyes follow your heart hungrily and his bulky body surges up to catch it. He climbs the castle walls with immense vines that tear down the beams of the ancient throne room’s vaulted ceiling. It looks like he means to snatch it up and consume it raw and bleeding like an ogre in an old Icelandic fairy tale.

 

“No,” you say, only just loud enough for your own ears to hear.

 

A blinding flash of searing light bursts from your soul, scorching its would-be assailant’s eyes. Flowey screams and sends dozens of needle-sharp tendrils plunging towards your soul, but it fights back independently with beams of amber that pierce steaming holes in each vine like glittering arrows and zing through to burst into sparkling puffs of air on the crumbled castle walls. Your eyes widen in astonishment. You never knew you had this kind of power. It’s agile and vicious and elegant. 

 

“No!” you shout with a bark of laughter. Your soul seems to sing in the air, loosing dozens more of its scorching rays to pepper Flowey mercilessly. He thrashes in frustration, bringing down whole stone slabs from the roof that crash and send sprays of dirt and pebbles flying through the air. 

 

You feel courageous.

 

“NO!” you repeat triumphantly, flinging it like a curse, which your soul only amplifies, raining down burning bullets upon your enemy. More than a few land in his eyes and mouths, which then burn and smoke. He seems to be weeping some kind of putrid red liquid. 

 

Quickly, you realize your damnable hubris.

 

Flowey, in his humiliating anguish, is  _ completely _ willing to destroy every single thing in reach whether he realizes what they are or not.

 

You stumble back, hoping to shield Sans’ broken body from massive, stamping roots and falling rocks, but your fragile human body can only do little more than block dirt clods and bits of rock or twig from Sans. Obviously, you would be no match for a slab of marble like those crashing around you, so you turn and reassess the situation, trusting your soul to keep fighting and dodging without input from you. You kneel and wrap your arms around what you presume to be the heaviest part of your skeleton, his wide, barrel-sized ribs. You can just barely hook fingers at the spine, but it’s enough to haul him up and away not a moment too soon; the ground where he just lay is decimated by a slap from Flowey’s great claw.

 

The door out of the throne room is only a few yards away, but it could be an entire football field for all that you progress. Every few steps, Flowey’s thunderous, crashing body makes you slip and fall, bashing your knees bloody. Then, getting back up is made nearly impossible by slipping on loose dirt and tumbled plants and terrifyingly punctuated by ceiling rocks falling willy-nilly, preventing any kind of organized escape route. For several minutes, it feels like two steps forward, one step back as you pass the same boulder again and again. 

 

 _Get to the cathedral_ , you think singlemindedly. _Get out of here. Get down to the city, maybe you can hide there._ One way or another you make it across and through the door.

 

The cool marble of the hallway seems faint refuge now; the walls and ceiling are collapsing here, too. It seems cruel, but if you are going to get anywhere before you are both crushed into dust, you have to drop Sans and drag him along by an arm or foot bone. You lower him to the floor and take one leg in each arm, securely tucking his feet against your body with your elbows. This way, you can scuttle backwards and control Sans relatively well.

 

“WHERE ARE YOU? WHAT HAVE YOU DONE???”

 

You scramble down the winding palace hallway, sliding and crashing in your panic, but barely stay ahead of a surge of plant matter that has suddenly realized its ears still work. Each time you fall and crash, a claw snaps after you, catching your hair and clothing, snipping them to shreds. More than once, you drop one of Sans’ feet and have to sit down hard to catch it.

 

“COME BACK! COME BACK AND LET ME KILL YOU!”

 

All at once, you come bursting through the back door of the cathedral and slide gracelessly into a massive stone column. You push Sans ahead of you, choosing two columns close together. If you brace your legs against one and your back on the other, you are wedged securely between, small and stable. With another great effort, you haul Sans over your legs so that he is cradled between your knees; safe for the moment. You feel nauseous. Your vision swims with exertion and exhaustion.

 

Flowey’s great rampage continues around you, destructive as it is indiscriminate. The beautiful mosaic that covered the long sanctuary floor is ruined, just crumbling bits of colorful clay. Hardly any stained glass windows remain. Unable to catch a real breath for your trembling, you start to think that letting a boulder crush you might be a good option rather than postponing the inevitable.

 

“aubrey…”

 

“Sshh,” you say, pressing your lips to the top of his skull, cradled on your shoulder. “Save your strength. I’m going to get us out of here, I promise.”

 

“don’t make promises… you can’t keep.” 

 

You have nothing to say to that.

 

Just behind your right ear, there is a pleased hum accompanied by a familiar glow. Like a trusty steed, your soul has floated back to you from its fight in the throne room. You gratefully raise one hand to stroke its side with the tips of your fingers and it vanishes, returned into you. Just for a moment, you feel whole and warm.

 

Suddenly, the earth begins to shake again; only a little at first, then profoundly enough to knock you and Sans out of your secure hiding place. You  _ just  _ miss catching his hand as he rolls away across the floor, but can’t feel bad about it for too long, because you are jolted the other direction, landing stiffly on your back.

 

The entire  _ ceiling _ of the cathedral is shaking. The chandeliers are swinging like children’s puppets on strings, glass is shattering to spill on the polished floor, and the beautifully carved stone bearing the inscription “Hall of Judgement” seems likely to crack or fall. Thorny vines curl through holes in the roof, encircling beams and pulling savagely until with a tremendous wrenching split, they break apart. Two, dreadfully large pincers snap onto either side of the long sanctuary and pull the entire roof off like peeling back the lid of a sardine can. Then, a sight you hoped you could have outrun, peers down on you, perfect eyesight apparently restored.

 

“Peek-a-boo! I  _ found _ you!” says Flowey in a singsong voice like the rumble of the earth’s oceans corrupted by evil spirits. You can only stare up at him while he shakes the roof in his claws so that its devastatingly heavy beams loosen themselves and fall down right at you.

 

_ This… might be it. _

 

You hardly dare to blink, hoping to see an opening for escape and instead see the beams freeze in place, engulfed by blue magic.

 

Blue…  _ magic?? _

 

On the other side of the cathedral is Sans, propped on one arm, with the other outstretched toward you, glowing with blue life. Immediately, you scramble to your feet, darting out from under your certain death to stand beside him and let your courageous soul ring free from its mortal sheath once more. 

 

This feels right. Standing tall above him, your soul goes on the offensive, slinging its stinging amber bullets all around, while Sans’ cool blue magic is reserved for defense. Together, you and Sans throw aside each stone, each stick of wood, every poisonously dripping thorn, and counter every venomous insult that Flowey can bring to muster with a volley of bright arrows. When he strikes left, Sans pulls you right. When a rock zings down the center, your soul blasts it to sooty pieces. Just when it feels like you are backed into a corner, somehow you find each other in the chaos and dance a little further away from death.

 

“Good one, Sans!” you cheer after Sans, kneeling upright now, uses both hands to catch an incoming missile and redirect it towards its origin with a shattering blow. 

 

Glowing sweat stands out on his skull. You know how low he is on power, so there’s no need to feel upset that he can’t spare a breath to answer. You can be loud enough for the both of you.

 

“Take that, Flowey!”

 

* _ cough, cough* _

 

“Sans?” You glance back over to him with concern, catching a vine that whips your leg out from under you at the knee. Your eyes sting, only partly because of the pain of your leg. You immediately crawl close to Sans to prop him up against you. He seems to be having a difficult time operating through a thickening cloud of dust.Truly, the air has become quite cloudy now, probably a product of the destroyed cathedral battleground. It seems that after finding your way unsteadily back to your feet, you also need to cough and clear your throat before resuming the attack.

 

It doesn’t taste like stone and earth.

 

You shoot a shocked look at Sans. Didn’t monsters turn into dust when they died?

 

_ All of the citizens of New Home… they’re dying to keep Flowey going! He’s choking us with their dust... _

 

This kind of abhorrent disregard for the sanctity of life is exactly the kind of sociopathic move that Flowey would make, especially if his new goal is not to gain the mythical power he craves but to cause as much harm as possible. It makes you feel sick to your stomach, but you have no time for indulgent, distracting emotions. You think that the reason he’s sucking monsters  _ literally dry _ is that his anger is vast enough to goad him into spending himself to death. Maybe… maybe you can capitalize on this so that those poor monsters don’t have to have died in vain.

 

“Hey!” you shout at the stone wall, knowing it will bounce back to his ears, but obscure your actual location. “Hey, Flowey! Try harder and you might get something that isn’t already dead! Or are you missing on purpose, you  _ lily-livered coward? _ ” Was that insulting to a flower?

 

A vehemently flung boulder smashing just to the side of Sans is enough of an answer. The tricky skeleton, however, catches onto your intent quickly and quips, “all that power and none of it helps your aim. what a  _ peon-ity.” _

 

Despite your dire situation, you can’t help but crack a huge smile at how awful that was. A blossom of soul arrows burst forth from you, singing trails of amber streaking through the dusty sky.

 

“It’s a  _ perennial _ problem. He doesn’t have any power, so he has to  _ petal _ it off others.”

 

“please, babe, you’re gonna make me  _ crocus _ .”

 

“Aaaaaah!” The building shakes with the strongest tremor yet. Dozens of thin, stinging vines whip through the walls, decimating slabs of stone as well as hitherto fore hidden rebar posts that were now just barely holding the great columns upright. Your back, just pressed against the stone for safety, feels like hot acid has been thrown upon it. You scream in pain for the vines lacerating your flesh open and the river of blood oozing freely now onto the floor.

 

“______!” Sans is on his feet, shuffling to you on broken bones, powdered toes. 

 

One great, red eye appears through a smashed out window, locked onto its target.

 

“Look out!”

 

But Sans can’t. He’s just been through too much. A thick, thorned stalk slams right down onto him, loosing another torrent of rocks and boulders. You can’t see him for the debris and thick, choking grit.

 

“Sans!”

 

No answer. The stalk slides back, thorns raking noisily on the parquet.

 

You don’t dare to leave your column. It could be a trap, just waiting for you to tiptoe out to smash you as well.

 

“Sans?”

 

A faint blue hum finally twinkles through the swirling dirt. It’s faint, very faint, but at least you know which direction to look now.

 

It’s a ghastly sight.

 

His jacket is torn open, revealing every injury that he’s hidden, that he’s fought through. His body is a wasteland of devestation. A crack, more devastating than anyone could endure, rends his sternum nearly in two. Each rib is broken. One arm is nowhere to be found. From every chip and crack and break leaks the dreaded red and pink marrow that keeps Sans alive.

 

Lying in a pool of his own blood and sponge, his skull turns to you, only one, blue eye able to focus, maybe not even on you. His feet slowly begin to flake away, swirling into dust.

 

“Sans…”

 

“welp,” he wheezes, a distant crackling sound punctuating each tiny breath. “i’m going to grillby’s… papyrus… do you want… anything?”

 

Soon, he is gone. His dust floats away, falling behind broken marble slabs and out broken windows until there is none left.

 

You know you should be fighting still, but it’s hard to remember why. It’s noisy and dirty here. He would hate that. Sans’ favorite was the quiet, beautiful crystal cavern. That’s where you should be. You can’t get there now. Flowey is in the way. Is that why you’re fighting?

 

Your eyes drift up to the missing ceiling. Flowey’s monstrous, nightmarish face gnashes its grotesque, distorted teeth at you in a discordant noise that is meant to represent laughter. His pulsing, worm-like tubes wiggle and throb with it, flashing different colors, but not in time with Flowey. They thrum quietly, like a radio that’s not quite tuned to the right station, just catching snippets of an old song. 

 

Quietly, your fingers touch the compass in your pocket, which is trembling under your touch. You take it out and see the needle dance once more with purpose, towards each of the six tubes where the human souls are trapped. Though they are grouped three-a-side, you intuitively understand that each of the six is important in its own right, a fact acknowledged by your family’s heirloom.

 

You meant to leave this to Frisk. That’s unfortunate.

 

This fight isn’t winnable, you realize slowly. It was barely winnable with Sans’ powerful blue magic and your piercing amber arrows, but now he’s… dust and you’re alone. The city is dead. No one is coming to save the day and even if they were, could they really overcome these odds?

 

There is clearly only one course of action: complete the objective you originally came to fulfil. 

 

Flowey wants your power, you reason looking vacantly at the blue veins in your hand, and he obviously needs your permission or intent or whatever to use it. You have no intention of handing over one more boost of power to an insane, sociopathic abomination, so you can either play this violent game of hide-and-seek forever… or you can stop playing.

 

You feel quite calm… and courageous. Your playful soul thrums with excitement, floating around in a tight circle. It’s nice to know that you’re in agreement with yourself.

 

You stand and tidy your rent skirt, knocking the dirt, gravel, and blood off as best you can, then slip your compass back into its pocket, and step out into the open.

 

“FLOWEY.”

 

He immediately directs all his attention at you. He leans his enormous stalk down, using his vines like hands and elbows to take up the entire space. “Yeeeeeees?” he says in a mock-innocent drawl that does nothing to hide his satisfaction.

 

“You win,” you say simply. “I can’t beat you, you’re just too strong.”

 

“I am glad that you have finally come to this conclusion,” he answers like you’re having a fine chat about the weather over a cup of tea. Once more, he grips you with a long, toxic-colored vine wrapped around your legs and holds you up to his face, close enough to see each shivering, grotesque eye roll. “Have you decided to relinquish your stolen power?”

 

You keep your face still and steel yourself. “...No.”

 

“No!?” he says, disbelieving. "What do you mean, ‘no’?”

 

“I mean that I will  _ never _ hand over my power to a worthless, infantile,  _ crybaby _ that no one has  _ ever _ loved or ever  _ could _ love.  _ Everything _ you are,  _ everything _ good about you, every _ scrap _ of power you have, you  _ stole _ from someone else! You will  _ never _ have my power you son of a bitch!”

 

Flower hardly seems to understand what you’ve said. First, his leaves begin to tremble. Then, his eyes go dark and empty. Finally, his teeth gnash together with a sound like a fire engine plowing into an ambulance while a scream unlike any other builds up from the ground and explodes into the empty, waiting Underground.

  
The last thing you see is the inky darkness behind his teeth, coming to swallow you whole. 


	19. Intermission 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While we wait for you to re-load, you meet a new friend and agree to a difficult task.

_ Da-dum… _

 

_ Da-dum... _

 

There is no darkness like this.

 

_ Da-dum… _

 

There is no sound, no light. You are standing on nothing, feeling nothing. It’s like floating on the darkest of lakes.

 

_ Da-dum… _

 

Your heartbeat sounds urgent in your ears. Do time and direction matter when there is nothing to see or observe a change in location? Experimentally, you move your arms and legs like swimming hoping to either turn yourself or move through the ocean of black. It doesn’t seem to matter. Your arms meet no resistance and you still don’t see or hear anything in any direction.  _ The enemy’s gate is down… if I knew which way ‘down’ was. Wait, what’s that? _

 

_ Da-dum… Da-dum… _

 

Gradually, something solid emerges from the emptiness. You rub your eyes with relief, then pull up short on second glance. It looks like a sitting room. There are two square walls that meet to make a corner attached a square floor with a neutral wood laminate covering. Your eyes have just enough time to really take this in when a strange flicker occurs, manifesting first as a bright, white flash followed by a brief black out. Two moth-eaten, winged armchairs have appeared, turned slightly towards one another. Between them is a low, round coffee table on a woven rug bearing two china teacups on saucers. Artwork of fruit bowls and flowers in and out of vases appears on the walls, which are now topped by a prim border of painted olive branches. You think one of your Aunties decorated her kitchen like this.

 

You close your eyes and try to face facts.  _ First, there was nothing, now there’s an old lady’s sitting room? I’m probably sick and hallucinating or still unconscious and hallucinating. When I open my eyes, I’ll be back in the cathedral, standing over Sans… Holding his ashes. Waiting for Flowey to kill me. _

 

That sounds like a terrible reality. You keep your eyes closed a moment longer and breathe deeply to brace yourself. You raise your hands and open your eyes...

 

“AAAAUGH!”

 

A monster unlike any you’ve seen hovers at the edge of the sitting room. Clad entirely in shapeless black clothing save for a meticulously turned turtleneck, its form seems to grow and shrink weirdly as you watch. Only its stark white face and floating hands remain still. It… reminds you of a skeleton without a nose or eyelids, but it has too much connective flesh between its bones. Its face is pointed toward you with a lopsided smile and one, drooping black eye. You’d think it had a stroke if the lopsidedness were on the same side, but it’s not. Your heart begins to relax when it makes no move toward you.

 

“Ah, come in, my dear,” says a pleasant, masculine voice in your head accompanied by familiar sign language from his long, bony fingers. “I’ve been expecting you.”

 

“Thank you. Where… am I?” you say, finding that your words fall flat in the vacuum. You repeat yourself with ASL. The final frontier obviously doesn’t transmit sound well.

 

“Mmm… an  _ excellent _ question,” he says, a sizzle hissing from his lopsided smile, curiously divergent from the smooth voice in your head. His black body wiggles in a way that might suggest enthusiasm behind his flashing white fingers. “Now, now, this, ah… is the  _ void _ . It is the adhesive membrane between all known and unknown realities,” his white hands make a grand gesture that encompasses the infinite degrees around you both. “Here, all realities can exist side-by-side, protected by the womb of space and time. When they brush against one another,  the void protects their very physical elements from interacting, though some residual properties might slip through the cracks temporarily. It’s nearly a perfect system!”

 

“Oh,” you say only, unable to think of something witty. “I see.” Even your gestures look lame with confusion.

 

“Well, don’t just float out there in the cold!” he says with an amused twitch of his head. “Do come in.”

 

He claps his hands twice causing several bright blooms of light to appear. You count six eager flashes before they zing out into the empty space around you. They zoom about, catching you on the way several times with their twinkling rays. They feel warm and ticklish. You realize that as they rocket back and forth, they are actually manipulating the space around you to become tangible. Experimentally, you wave your arms and legs through the air as though doing the breaststroke and manage to navigate yourself to your host. Gravity asserts itself inside the room and you collapse in an undignified heap. Before you can pick yourself up, two magical purple hands manifest in the air and take your arms to help you to your feet.

 

“Thank you,” you say again with some surprise. They wave and disappear. You are left alone with the goopy skeleton, though now able to be heard. This might be a pocket of familiar atmosphere.

 

“Please do make yourself at home,” responds the monster, now towering over you. He must be at least 7 feet tall. “Do you take tea?”

 

“Can you make tea out here?” you ask, looking around for a kitchen. Maybe another room will spring into existence like this one.

 

“In a manner of speaking, yes.” The skeleton’s smile stretches wider and he gestures to the chairs. “It will be only a moment.”

 

You choose one of the venerable looking armchairs which turns out to be soft and comfortable to sit in. A new softly glowing pair of lavender hands brings you a silver tray bearing a quaint china teacup with matching teapot, saucer, and sugar bowl piled with pretty white cubes. The tea is fragrant and steaming slightly. You can’t quite place the aroma, but put in a few sugar cubes nonetheless and stir with a fussy little silver spoon.  _ Magic. Of course. _

 

“Well,” says the monster settling into the opposite armchair and letting his black, amorphous body subsume it, “I must say that I am very pleased you are here. I have been waiting to meet you for a very,  _ very _ long time.” His hand movements are elegant and practiced. It seems important to him that the exact length of time is portrayed by his gesture, not just using the sign for ‘long’, so his signing hand travels up his arm just as slowly as he says it.

 

“I can’t say the same,” you answer, using your one free hand to sign clumsily while pouring yourself a cup of tea and, seeing no cup for him, awkwardly putting it back. “I’m not even sure who you are.”

 

A bright, white pinprick of light appears in his correctly formed eye accompanied by a rush of popping and clicking sounds from his mouth. “No, of course not,” he says in a rush, fingers almost, but not quite tripping over each other. “I can’t imagine that you would have heard of me. Dr. W. D. Gaster, at your service.”

 

That name stirs something in your memory. “Wait, I  _ have _ heard of you!” you say with excitement. “You were the last royal scientist! You built the core! You wrote books on the nature of monster souls. Alphys was trying to copy your work and she said it was the hardest experiment she ever performed! Of  _ course _ I’ve heard of you.”

 

“And she is well read, too,” says Dr. Gaster’s voice in your head as though praising you for a good grade on a spelling test. You feel proud despite the strange circumstances and reward yourself with a sip of tea. It is light and tingly indicating magic, but its mundane flavor is savory, verging on bitter without stepping over the edge. It warms your heart. “Allow me to fill in some points your research may have overlooked,” he continues. From a pocket of his shapeless clothing, he pulls a small pair of spectacles with no side pieces. He settles the pince-nez where the bridge of his nose would reasonably be and claps his hands twice.

 

A new pair of his magic hands suddenly appear and rush to lay flat on the coffee table. Seeming to melt, their essence covers the surface until it is smooth and purple, like a well set pillow. The magical mound vibrates with anticipation for a moment until Dr. Gaster leans forward with one long, skinny finger and touches it in the very middle. At once, the purple magic essence springs up into the shape of an enormous machine, the top part of which you have seen before.

 

“The core,” you whisper, impressed. You were unaware just how much of it lay below the surface of the lava. Rather, magma. Lava would be outside the earth’s crust. Obviously.

 

“Indeed. This creation of mine was intended to be the solution to all of our problems. A source of energy... a method escape... a progressive goal to soothe our troubled minds.” He points to a few important-looking parts while popping and crackling. “It was intended to… ah…  _ pierce the veil. _ According to the leading theory (which I must admit, was largely researched and developed by myself and my team), all realities exist within exactly the same space, simply overlapping in the empty spaces between atoms. One could stand in the comfort of one’s own home and, with the correct equipment, go on a journey through infinite worlds. The trick, of course, would be both staying connected to one’s own home and not becoming insane.”

 

“Like, from seeing too many possibilities? Too much input?” Johnny 5 would be doomed.

 

“Mmmm, almost. More like, being forced to experience every possible permutation of oneself creates an  _ ungluing _ paradox. Sentient beings place a lot of stock in their personal ‘identity’, but for most, this means an attachment to a long list of superficial preferences and choices, even remaining identical except for following a different religion or line of work.  When presented with even one additional possibility comprised of different choices, what ends up happening is that the individual realizes that these choices are ultimately unimportant and gradually gives up their unique identifying features to become more and more uniform across all realities. This is all according to theory, anyway.” Far from being horrified by the idea like you are, Dr. Gaster seems fascinated by this outcome, vibrating and crackling enthusiastically while staring intently at the magical reproduction of the Core. You begin to wonder if your first impression of Gaster as a dangerous and unknowable monster wasn’t more accurate than you thought.

 

You clear your throat. “So, the core was meant to test this theory?”

 

Gaster snaps out of his reverie and smiles at you once more. “Yes. The Core’s purpose was to gather enough energy to fling itself through the void and attach to another reality like a grappling hook. Then, the two universes (Universees? Universi? No, universes.) would be bound to one another, making safe, reliable travel possible. This, of course, would require an  _ astronomical _ amount of force to punch through, which is why the core is submerged in the latent volcano at the center of the underground.”

 

“Oh, right. Because magma is really energetically dense.”

 

Dr. Gaster continues on as though he hasn’t noticed your comment. “The process was so close to being finished… I had thought it would take multiple lifetimes to accrue such a wealth of power (hence, my sons), but the day of completion was so far ahead of schedule, I admit I became… careless. It was the work of a second to lose my footing and… plummet to my apparent demise. It seems that fate didn’t have the same plan, though. Someone (or something) activated the Core as I fell and all that built up energy was released upon me… but of course, not at the level required to deliver me to another reality entirely. So, here I am.” He sits back in his armchair, lacing his fingers together across what might be his stomach.

 

“Let me get this straight,” you say, standing and looking out into the void as though expecting to see proof of his story. “You built the Core in order to connect our reality with another one and… I don’t know,  _ staple _ them together using the energy from the magma the core’s sitting in, but you fell in, which  _ activated _ it at half power and got you stuck only halfway through?”

 

“An  _ apt _ summation, my dear,” he says, hands vibrating with applause. “You see, this would have numerous benefits including (through some complicated mechanical/mathematical engineering, mind) creating a sort of… erm…  _ probability calculator. _ Imagine never having to make an uninformed decision again! One could just  _ see _ the consequences play out in another reality! War would become obsolete; the justice system attains perfection; truth would eternally out!” All the joy disappears from his face. He becomes a sad, old man slumped in a sad, old armchair. “It… ah… might have been too much, I’m afraid.” He resettles his pince-nez again self consciously.

 

You feel like you’ve swallowed a lemon. “So… I’m stuck here?”

 

Gaster’s eye snaps back up to you, laughing like a whistling teakettle. “Good heavens, no! I have only borrowed you for a bit.”

 

You shake your head slowly. “I don’t understand.”

 

“There is a moment after death when the human soul is separated from the body, but persists.” He holds one “f hand” above the other and slowly wiggles his fingers to demonstrate the separation. “This doesn’t happen with monsters, of course, most souls dissolve instantly upon expiring… or certain individuals of significant magical power will have souls that remain a few moments longer before ashing… my sons… the royal family… that new captain of the guard. Her mother was a boss monster, I presume she is also.” He scratches his chin pensively before continuing, cutting off the 20-question pile up you are experiencing. “Well, because the human soul perseveres so long, it can be captured or manipulated, being the only part of the human to respond to magical influence, you see. Think of it like… like a rubber band. I am merely stretching out this moment so we can have this delightful chat. I have strength enough for that. Afterwards… like a rubber band, remember… you will return to your reality with a snap, in fact, flinging yourself further along in time after...”

 

You can’t hold it back any longer. “Wait, boss monster? What do you mean ‘your sons’? How do you know Undyne? How are you manipulating  _ time? _ What is going on here?”

 

The whistle of his laughter reverberates even out into the void. “Ah ha! You cannot be put off, can you? You would have made an excellent assistant. Excellent, indeed; very scientific. Here: boss monsters are the aforementioned monsters with exceptional magical strength whose souls can persist moments after death; you are familiar with my sons, I believe, the two skeletons in Snowdin; While I am not able to influence events in our reality of origin, I can use the essence of the void to observe the goings on of it, therefore I am familiar with your journey here and the persons involved; Once one learns to harness the power of the void, basic time manipulation is simple; and I have borrowed you to ask for your assistance in remedying my current situation. I hope that answers all of your questions?”

 

You stare. “That was… candid.” You pour yourself another cup of tea to buy some thinking time. “That… raised just as many questions as it answers, but I’m getting the feeling that… we’re on a time limit?”   
  


“Indeed we are,” Dr. Gaster agrees. “My magic, while powerful, is not endless. Soon, in fact, I will have to let you go.”

 

“Ok. Then, as much as it sucks, I guess we need to prioritize.”

 

“I thank you for your understanding,” he says, extending his fingertips to you sincerely. “I  _ need _ your help.”

 

You nod. “What do you want me to do?”

 

“I am asking you… to go to the Core… and find a way to… to, ah… shunt some of its energy out here. Then, I can harness it and use it to propel myself back through the curtains, as it were.”

 

“How, exactly, is that done?”

 

“Alas, I do not know.”

 

You make a forceful gesture with your hands. “Aren’t you supposed to know? Isn’t it your invention?”

 

“What I’m asking isn’t necessarily what it was designed to do. You will have to improvise.”

 

“Are you sure you want me doing that?” you say, staring at him in disbelief. “I just made a decision that  _ killed us all. _ Everyone I know and have come to love over the past, what, two weeks underground.... is  _ dead. _ That is  _ my _ fault.  _ I _ killed us.”

 

Dr. Gaster’s body undulates slowly. “Well… you are young.  _ Very _ young as a matter of fact. Only a couple of decades.” His good eye blinks carelessly. “It happens. You can’t expect to have the wisdom of the ages at only a handful of years. Most monster children aren’t even fully mature at… whatever age you are.”

 

“Then why ask me?”

 

His mouth droops and his body grows still. He looks at you with the weight of years of loneliness and whispers, hands barely moving, “What other choice do I have?”

 

You feel ashamed. “...I’m sorry. That was a little mean of me.”

 

He nods, but looks a little less sad. “Ask that scientist boyfriend of yours… or, or the young new thing they got to replace me. She might know more. Bear in mind, though… my son… may not have the  _ fondest _ feelings for me… I pushed them too hard. I was too obsessed with my vision and I demanded more than they could give, more any  _ anyone _ could give… not that they didn’t try. It is to our detriment that it managed to work at all.”

 

Taking a deep breath, you sit back down and drain your cold teacup. “Should I not mention your name, then?”

 

“Oh, my dear… I don’t know. Use your best judgment. You seem like a creature capable of reckoning others’ feelings better than I.” He sighs sharply and rubs his hands together. “Well! Our time together is coming to an end like the last grains of sand in an hourglass. Are there any other questions I can answer in a few moments?”

 

You bite your lip. “What am I getting in exchange for this, great and dangerous service?” Is this too presumptuous?

 

“A haggler as well?” he says, chuckling in little whistling spurts. “Very well. I can fulfill one request in your reality. Just one. I have enough energy to reach through the veil and perform some task to aid you if you ask it.”

 

It’s not much, but it’s more than nothing. “Thank you. I’ll do what I can.” Smoothing your skirt, you stand one last time and face him. Dr. Gaster nods and you are enveloped in his cool, lavender magic.

  
“I appreciate it. I will be watching. Now remember, your consciousness will skip through some time, so you might be a little disoriented. It will wear off  _ presently. _ Get ready in 3, 2, 1….”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It comes to my attention that some readers are confused by the death counter at the end of some chapters. It has been kept deliberately vague because of a major plot point coming up which will explain it in greater detail, but rest assured that it means probably exactly what it says on the tin. 
> 
> Thank you so much for your kudos and comments during this, the first act of my story. I hope you are as excited as I am to continue into the next act. Best wishes!


	20. Act Two: Begin!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As promised, you are catapulted forward into the next reincarnation of the timeline. Sans notices something amiss and formulates a plan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woah, writer's block! It turns out that it's difficult to write the same scene over and over again without feeling... repetitive. Luckily, my BFFsie is not as thick as I and found a way out immediately, so major thanks to her for making this chapter possible.

The sun is bright.

 

The snowbank gleams.

 

Not a sound in the woods....

 

But your agonized screams.

 

You thrash in panic, flailing wildly and kicking up slushy snow all over the normally quiet forest. The left side of your body from chin to hip burns with the fury of a thousand suns. Your arm, your hand, your neck, your ribs; everything is red and angry with peeling, crackled, inflamed skin. You can’t think about anything except for the blazing pain. You can only scream and hold your arm foolishly but each fingertip brushing your melted skin only increases the searing intensity. You feel empty of any sense of self except agony.

 

“shhhh! turn over!” says a deep voice harshly near your ear, “stop fighting me! stop fighting and turn over!”

 

Obediently, you roll over so your unharmed right shoulder sticks in the air, which submerges the burned left in glorious, numbing snow. Instantly, the cold snow begins to bleed away your pain, numbing and quieting it. Somewhere in the back of your mind, you know that this is not the correct way to deal with burns, but you also can't deny that the frost is bringing some of this reality back into focus. With your free hand, you wipe crusty tears from your eyes and try to stifle your noise, sniffling yourself back to calm in the snow’s cool embrace.

 

Behind you, a tall, intimidating pair of stone doors looms over the quiet, snowy forest. Upon them is carved a deep and mysterious symbol, all wings and barely connected triangles. From under eyelashes sparkling with tears, you see footsteps lead out from them, wander in a couple confused circles, then end underneath you. Truthfully, you have no memory of this. The last thing you really remember was walking up Mt. Ebott looking for a place to camp for the night… so that means... what?

 

Now you see with a new thrill of alarm that you are wearing unfamiliar clothes and your hiking pack is missing. Your stomach roils like falling off a rollercoaster. _Oh no… everything I own was in there._ You slowly sit up to take stock, trying diligently not to move your throbbing side but feel a bulge in your remaining pocket.  _I hope that's at least the compass..._ You can't imagine how you would feel if your last remaining family heirloom were destroyed in the fire that injured you.

 

“there. better?” It's the deep voice from before.

 

You nod, gingerly rolling one shoulder and rather regret the bloom of pain that causes. “Thank you,” you say, voice a little raw from your outpour of grief, “I have no ideaaaaaaAAAAAAAAAGUUUHGHHH!!!”

 

A short skeleton with one glowing blue eye hovers near you, hands extended toward, but not touching your legs. His perversely grinning teeth are pressed tightly together and pulled wide at the corners in a grimace. You don’t get more than a peek of the blue, fur-lined hoodie it's wearing before you scramble backward with such force that you knock your head right into a tree.  _ Ouch! _

 

“oooh, watch your head. bet that hurt like a  _ birch. _ ”

 

You groan and respond, “Like you wouldn’t  _ beleaf _ .”

 

For a tense moment you stare at each other, unmoving. His mismatched eyes peer at your face, scanning it for… something, but at length, you can’t help but laugh. His manner, his appearance, his very presence… it tickles you. You hiccup and giggle, flinching when it pulls at your burned side.

 

After a startled moment, he too lets out a deep breath with something like a chuckle. “i was so worried…”

 

“Well,” you say, watching the gleaming blue-and-green-and-gold ring in his left eye fade to reveal two bright, white, pinpricks of light, “I’m better now, thanks. Um… hey,” you hold out your unburned hand, “can you help me up?

 

He does, taking your hand with his fully reticulated bones and easily pulling you to your feet. You feel a rush of blood drop from your head and your vision swims with grey for a moment, but he holds you a moment longer until the feeling passes. He is very sturdy... and strong.

 

“Thanks again,” you say shyly, taking back your hand. “I seem to owe you a lot today, huh?”

 

At this, his head quirks to one side. It’s a relief to know that he at least emulates human gestures, even if it's a confused one. “uh… yeah. do you, y’know, want to tell me what you were thinking, running off like that?” He shoves his hands lazily in the pockets of his black track shorts, pretending that this question doesn’t matter.

 

“Hm,” you say to give yourself a moment to both think of an answer and look at yourself. Fitted canvas pants, a dark blue button-up blouse actually roomy enough to button comfortably over your bust, which used to have two sleeves, but now only has one. Maybe you can convince someone that it’s the new young people’s fashion to burn off one sleeve. With relief, you find in your pocket a very last-generation cellphone, your grandfather’s compass, and a canteen half-full of water. In the phone is programmed only one number: Toriel. This makes you feel crushingly sad, but you can’t remember why. You gaze at it for another moment, thinking wistfully.

 

“I don’t know,” you admit finally in a small voice.

 

“...you don’t know... y o u  d o n t   _ k n o w?? _ how could you not know? we were out looking for you, all of us.” As he works himself up, the pinpricks of light in his dark eyesockets go out. You shudder and take half a step back as his anger bubbles over. “i must have jumped to  _ every  _ place we’ve ever been together before figuring out that  _ of course _ you’d take the longest possible path around hotland!! i thought… well, i don’t know  _ what _ i thought. that you hated me? that you thought we were in on it… that we’d give you both up to the king… but, actually, no.  _ no. _ the smart, funny, caring person i know wouldn’t just up and abandon us like that, it had to be something else… something  _ really _ …” His vocabulary fails him. He gestures with empty hands.

 

He can’t find any word to describe what could be so awful. 

 

You find that your cheeks are wet once again.

 

“I’m… I’m sorry,” you whisper. You're still not sure why, but you feel absolutely consumed with guilt. Your stomach twists with anxiety.

 

“sorry!?” he rages, throwing his bony digits in the air. “do you have any kind of idea the danger you were in? what could have happened to Frisk? that little flower spells big trouble for all of us and throwing away a good run is just… just…  _ asinine _ !” He is sweating blue bullets and breathing heavily, despite his lack of organs. Normally you would be fascinated by his impossible anatomy, but something else demands your attention immediately and you rush forward.

 

“Frisk? How do you know Frisk? Are they here? Are they in trouble?” You peer into his eyes with worry, hands almost touching his collar. His face is so familiar you want to reach out and stroke his cheekbone and demand for him to tell you how you know him, but hold yourself back and only curl your hands into useless fists and let them drop. The skeleton stares at you, frozen. Gradually, two points of light flicker again into his dark eyes and you feel your lips curl into a wide smile despite your tears.

 

“you don’t know. you don’t remember yet… no. Frisk isn’t here. they’re not in trouble it’s just...” The skeleton sighs and rubs the back of his skull with one hand, staring off at a pile of snow to one side. It’s a comforting gesture to see and it’s driving you crazy that you can’t figure out why it matters. You just know that it does.

 

Tentatively, you take the hand that hangs loosely at his side in both of your own and pull it to your chest. His fingers twitch, but don’t pull away. “If you know something important, mister magic skeleton-man, I’d like to hear it,” you say, hesitantly.

 

_ He looks at you, meeting your hopeful, unwavering stare and his soul twitches in his chest. For one long, delicious moment, he considers not telling you. Maybe he’ll just let you go so that every time you reset, he gets to meet you again. The sharp look in your eye, like you’re memorizing every detail of his face; the soft heat of your hands when you touch him for the first time; the peaceful rise and fall of your breast when you sleep on his couch the first time all swaddled up in a bone blanket: gems to save for when no one else remembers. Frisk made so many memories like that before they learned to persist through the resets. Happy Frisks, sad Frisks, murderous violent monster-hating Frisk. But you? He could save you… just for himself... _

 

The magic-borne monster sighs deeply and shakes his head like he’s clearing his vision. His bony hands drop yours to hold you instead by the shoulders, making your breath catch in your throat. It’s alarming how  _ strong  _ his hands are. He could probably  _ crush _ you without thinking about it. The thought makes your heart squeeze strangely.

 

“here’s what you’re gonna do: my brother, Papyrus, is in the woods ahead, scouting and patrolling for humans. you are going to let yourself be captured by him. he won’t hurt you, i promise, but it’s the fastest way to get you back to the house where i can explain things.”

 

You feel apprehensive about any plan that involves your capture by an unknown, monstrous skeleton.

 

Clearly, the skeleton sees this because he pulls you close enough to rest his forehead against yours. “it’ll be okay,” he says quietly, barely loud enough to be heard. “he’s going to put you in the garage; it’s kind of a… holding cell. paps is a big softie, so he probably won’t even lock the door. just walk out and around back of the house. there’s a door there and stairs down to the basement. i’ll be waiting.”

 

You just shake your head minutely from side to side. Overwhelming. You hurt, you’re tired, you have  _ no _ idea where you are, and a strange skeleton that you swear you’ve met before is giving you instructions to be captured and thrown in his brother’s garage cum jail cell.

 

“But what if he does, though?” you say, trying to suppress a whimper. “What if he locks me in? What if I can’t get away? What if…”

 

“do you trust me?”

 

“...do I what?”

 

His eyes are steady on yours. “do you trust me?”

 

You find yourself unable to lie. “...yes.”

 

“then, please… let papyrus capture you. i’ll be waiting.”

 

"....ok." You turn away down the path, then stop and look back. "Wait... who are you?"

 

"...sans. sans the skeleton," he answers with a crack in his comforting voice.

 

xXx

 

With extreme trepidation, you approach the wide, wooden bridge and lay your hand on its rough pine. You move your hand to the spot you impossibly remember it resting before and wait with bated breath. Something has to happen now. Something… painful? You are so absorbed with trying to remember that you don’t notice the tall skeleton waiting ahead. It, however, notices you and reacts accordingly.

 

“WOWIE! A HUMAN!”

 

“Aaaaah! A monster!”

 

There’s no possible way you could have missed this neon orange, blue, and gold trimmed giant. Dressed in armor that reminds you of an old video game, he blocks the ENTIRE path with his lanky bones.

 

“YES! IT IS I, THE GREAT PAPYRUS! AND YOU, HUMAN, WILL BE MY PRISONER!” With an ear-splitting grin, he throws back his shoulders in a way that flips his short, orange capelet. Clearly, this is a practiced move intended to make him look intimidating. Unfortunately, Frisk has performed exactly the same move with an old pair of flowered curtains, so the effect is ruined somewhat by your sudden laughter. “HUMAN! THIS IS SERIOUS!” he screeches indignantly, stamping his foot.

 

“Yes, yes, of course. I’m sorry.” You clear your throat and roll your shoulders, wincing at the pain. “Oh no! Whatever shall I do?” you say in an overdramatic, soupy voice, clapping one hand to your forehead. It feels like playing with your younger twin siblings. They were always the most imaginative with their games, pretending to be captured in turn by all kinds of terrifying apparitions. When you were inevitably roped into play, you would alternate being the hero that saved them from their nemesis’ evil plans, or their actual nemesis, trapping them in your pillow-fort of doom. 

 

You swallow the lump in your throat.

 

“YOU WILL PARTICIPATE IN SOME PUZZLES!” declares the tall, orange skeleton monster. YOU WILL LAUGH AT SOME HILARIOUS JAPES! THEN YOU WILL BE CAPTURED AND I CAN FULFILL MY LIFELONG DREAM!!! POWERFUL! POPULAR! PRESTIGIOUS!!! THAT'S PAPYRUS!!! THE NEWEST MEMBER... OF THE ROYAL GUARD!" 

 

This is one hell of a pronouncement. You decide to amp up the drama; he seems like the kind of monster who would appreciate that. Falling to your knees, you clasp your hands together in supplication. “Please, Papyrus. Isn’t there anything I can do to be spared your magnificent… puzzles?” The look of torture on your face is only partly due to your overacting... you keep forgetting that half your body is burned off.  _I need to score some hydrocortisone as soon as possible or this is going to scar like hell._

 

“NO!” His glee is complete.

 

It almost breaks your heart to do this.

 

You sigh and do it anyway. 

 

You thrust out both of your wrists. “Ok, I’m captured. Take me away, chief.”

 

“WHAT? NO, NO YOU HAVE TO DO THE PUZZLES!!”

 

You shrug. “But, I’m captured. No take backsies.” You even shuffle a little closer on your knees to make your point.

 

“CURSES!” shrieks Papyrus, stamping the ground once more in frustration. “FOILED AGAIN BY NO BACKSIES!” He sighs, whistling through his teeth and folds his long arms. “WELL, I SUPPOSE I AM CORNERED. YOU WERE TOO INTIMIDATED BY MY GREAT PHYSIQUE AND THE LEGEND OF MY PUZZLES, TOO LEGENDARY! VERY WELL, HUMAN. YOU ARE CAPTURED BY ME.” He turns to walk away.

 

“Wait, don’t you have any handcuffs or anything?” You stand up, still holding out your wrists while you follow him.

 

“ER… THAT IS…” Papyrus won’t meet your eyes. “UNDYNE WON’T LET ME HAVE ANY. I KNOW! WE CAN IMPROVISE!” He takes the long orange scarf from his neck and ties it in an elaborate figure eight around your wrists, one over the other and over and over again. The ridiculous scarf is long enough that even after all that, he has enough to hold like a lead. It’s charming, like being put in couch-fort jail by Frisk. You feel sick again for a moment.

 

“COME, HUMAN! THIS IS WHERE YOU WOULD FIND THE FIRST PUZZLE…”

 

It seems that, not to be put out by your clever trick, Papyrus is going to give you the grand tour. He takes you back and forth through the snowy forest pointing out interesting trees, showing you where all of the forest monsters live, and describing each puzzle in excitable detail. You both first take a detour to look at two matching doghouses (THESE TWO ARE CONSTANTLY IMPROVING THEIR CUDDLING TECHNIQUES!), then around a hillock to experience a little golfing game. He lets you gambol after the melting snowball, sliding all over the frozen pond, hampered by your bound wrists, then gives you an assist to finally get the damn thing into the hole. The green flag flutters shyly.

 

A table and useless microwave further on bear a plate of frozen spaghetti that Papyrus just has to stop and admire.

 

“ONE DAY,” he screeches, “THERE WILL BE A PERSON OR MONSTER WHO APPRECIATES THE ART OF COOKING AS PASSIONATELY AS I DO! THEN WE WILL SHARE OUR RECIPES FOR THE REST OF OUR DAYS!!”

 

“That sounds wonderful,” you say, trying in vain to either chew or swallow the bite of pasta he forced upon you. It does neither. You are doomed.

 

You march together past many snowy rocks set in shapes like a modern art installation (THIS IS SUPPOSED TO BE MY FACE!) yet more doghouses and frozen ponds, and some piles of snow that are actually snow monsters while other piles of snow have cameras in them (HOW DID THOSE GET THERE???). It’s all going very well and you are wondering why you were ever nervous about Sans’s plan when… a swinging rope bridge spans an enormous gorge. On the other side, you can see the glow of the town of Snowdin, but your heart races and your feet stop when you look at that bridge.

 

“Um… we have to… we have to cross that?” The base of the cliff looks miles away.

 

“YES! I LIKE TO SKIP EVERY OTHER PLANK LIKE IT’S MADE OF LAVA! I CALL THE GAME… LAVABRIDGE!!”

 

“I can’t… I c-c-can’t… just leave me right here… I don’t want to be captured anymore.”

 

“NO TAKE BACKSIES!” trills Papyrus waving a long bony finger in reproach.

 

“Haha, that was just a joke to get you to… I can’t… you can’t be serious?”

 

“OF COURSE! WAIT A MINUTE… HUMAN, ARE YOU SCARED?”

 

“NO! I mean… no, of course not… it’s just a silly bridge over a thousand feet fall of death. Who could be scared of that?”

 

“NOT TO WORRY! I WILL HELP!” and he seizes you by the waist and throws you over his shoulder.

 

You kick and flail in protest screeching “Put me down!” but Papyrus grip is so strong you might as well tell the moon to fuck off instead. A wooden creak tells your ears that he has already stepped on the bridge and you’re going to have to deal with it. You close your eyes and press your face against the back of his ribcage. A few steps in, the swinging stops. When you peek, you see his feet taking extra small steps so as not to shake you. It makes your heart melt.

 

On the other end of the bridge, he says in an unusually quiet voice, “Human, are you well?”

 

You swallow and nod, then say ‘yes’ out loud because OF COURSE your head is behind his and he can’t see you.

 

“EXCELLENT!” 

 

It seemed for a second like he was going to put you down, but then he sprints off gleefully, still carrying you like a sack of potatoes. You watch some cozy buildings and perplexed monsters shaped like animals flash by as you joggle up and down with his enormous strides. One little fellow wearing a striped shirt with no arms trips along behind you for a little, just long enough for you to wave, then he falls and his face is buried in a snowdrift. You giggle while Papyrus slides to a halt.

 

“HERE WE ARE! SCENIC MY HOUSE!”

 

You whip your head up and to the side and see a standard suburban number with two floors. There are two mailboxes out front; one empty, the other overflowing. It looks like one or two windows might have curtains, but they don’t match. It feels very homey. As soon as you take it in, Papyrus lifts you off his shoulder and sets you down in front of a tiny building. It looks like it might be a garage for a mini.

 

“HERE YOU ARE! I’M SURE IT WILL BE VERY COMFORTABLE UNTIL UNDYNE COMES TO FETCH YOU!!”

 

Like a gentleman, he opens the door for you.

 

If possible, it seems smaller on the inside.

 

The only furniture is a dented futon mattress and a dog bowl overflowing with spaghetti. All the walls are cracked and stained. There is a fence like the one outside the great stone doors that is clearly meant to be the bars of the jail cell. It looks desperately old and worn and drafty. You turn to Papyrus, ready to ask him if there isn't anywhere else to stay and see the self-conscious worry in his eyes. His hands rub together, fingers curling over and over again on his knuckles and the words die on your tongue.

 

“It’s… very nice. I’m sure I’ll be comfortable but… could I… I think it would do your spaghetti much greater justice if… if it were served on a table with a plate and a fork… rather than in a dog food bowl on the floor.”

 

His eyes shine with your praise. “OF COURSE! I CAN PROCURE A SETTING WORTHY OF THE LOVE AND PASSION OF YOUR ENJOYMENT OF MY SPAGHETTI!” and he rushes back out the door. You smile and slip your hands out of his scarf-cuffs.

 

You give him a minute to find something by inspecting every corner of your… prison? If you cleaned it, it might not be uncomfortable, but the floor is still made of warped lumber and the wallpaper is still peeling. It looks like the plaster and lumber frame behind it might be set improperly as well. Something tickles the back of your mind, giving you the hunch that this might have been the temporary home while the two-story structure beside it was being finished. You’re trying to figure out what really gives you that idea when Papyrus reappears with a card table and a rolling desk chair balanced on his spindly arms. He busies himself arranging them  _ just so _ and gestures grandly.

 

“NYEH-HEH-HEH!! PERFECTION!”

 

“It is much nicer, thank you.”

 

“I’LL LEAVE YOU TO EAT AND INFORM MY BROTHER OF YOUR ARRIVAL! I MUST SCOLD HIM FOR HIS INABILITY TO CAPTURE YOU IN HIS PORTION OF THE FOREST!!” He swishes his cape dramatically and strides from the shed.

 

Out of a sense of obligation, you take a bite of the spaghetti, but can’t stomach it at all. You try to remember if Sans asked you to wait until dark, or just come to the basement when you arrive. Or, you could just go now… go away, you mean. You could keep walking right out of town and find your own way back home. Your heart twists at the thought: that sounds like the worst idea you’ve ever had. As much as you dread what Sans wants to explain to you, walking away fills you with a hot fear, heart palpitations, and sweaty palms. No, you’ll follow the plan.

 

You try the handle of the shed and find that indeed, Papyrus didn’t think to lock it. You check your pockets for your belongings; phone, canteen, compass. Thus reassured, you walk out the door and around back of the quiet, snowy house. You duck under the window that looks into the kitchen but otherwise the short walk proceeds without incident.

 

The door is around back as promised. You turn the handle and walk down.


	21. Revelations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finally. After 21 chapters of this nonsense, someone sits down and explains everything!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everybody! It was a nice winter break for me. I read some books, I traveled, I went back to work and was immediately submerged under an avalanche of paperwork... but I'm ready to get back to the story. Comments are love and inspiration!

It’s a short walk down to the lowest level of the house, just a dozen wooden steps or so. They hardly creak even given the cold, so when you arrive at the bottom and the doorway opens into a spacious, though low-ceilinged room, Sans’ back is to you; he hasn’t noticed your arrival. He is looking, you think, at an enormous object covered by a sheet. It is impossible to tell what could be beneath it - a statue, or a machine, or even an oddly shaped cabinet - but the sheet is smooth, crisp, and bleached white, hanging straight down with few folds. This strikes you as unusual, though you aren’t sure why.

 

In the brief moment before you have to announce your presence, your eyes sweep the room, taking in the expansive chalkboard, chipped-tile counter holding chemistry vessels, and wooden stools. You were expecting something like a garage with shelving and cleaning supplies, but this is much closer to a chemistry laboratory. Or perhaps physics? That feels right, but not because you are overly familiar with physics per se. It’s something else… like something you forgot just as you walk into a room looking... 

 

“you’re here.” Sans is looking at you. His bone brows are lifted in relief and surprise. He comes forward to take your hands, clasping them in his warm phalanges. “...i wasn’t sure… if...” He shakes his head and his smile is genuine. “you’re here.”

 

You look into his face, struck again by its familiarity. You long to reach out and caress his cheekbone, but feel embarrassed by the thought. Deliberately, you clear your throat and look around the lab again. “I’ve never been here before, have I?”

 

The lights in his eyes flicker. “...no,” he says, cautiously.

 

“But I  _ have _ been to Snowdin,” you prompt.

 

“...yes.”

 

“And I’ve met Papyrus, too, haven’t I?”

 

“yes.”

 

“Then… what’s happening to me? If I’ve been to all these places and I have the  _ feeling _ of remembering… but I don’t actually remember anything, why don’t… why don’t I…” your voice breaks and you can’t finish your question. You cling to his hands like a lifeline, willing him to understand.

 

Sans does what you’ve been longing to do; he reaches out and cups your cheek in his hand. It’s soft, though still firm, and warm. His thumb brushes just under your eye, right on the roundest part of your face. You feel yourself laugh - a sighing, puff of a sound - and sink into the caress.

 

“hey, hey… don’t feel lost. i’ll try to explain everything, ok? have a seat here, babe, we’ll help you  _ re-member. _ ” To illustrate his pun, his eye flashes blue and bones of his fingers fly apart, twirling excitedly, then rush back together to reform his hand with a  _ click _ . He pulls a wooden stool near the island counter of his laboratory, pushing away a few glass beakers to make you more comfortable, and helps you up.

 

When you’re sitting comfortably, Sans turns to address the great, green chalkboard. He begins to draw on it; one thick, straight line across the middle. Then, he draws some thinner lines connected to it that loop back into a few more lines… and a few more… and then some more, until the diagram explodes into a chaotic snarl of arrows and broken, jagged lines, X-out’s, and squiggles. Some lines are numbered, some have hatch marks, some seem to stop and start several times, but it’s clearly not random; Sans is drawing as though he has done this very thing many times before and is just copying down something engraved in his skull.

 

He turns back to you in a professional, academic manner and gestures with his chalk. “the center of our universe - the person around whom everything revolves down here - i call P1.” He writes this as a note at the beginning of the thick center line. “this is the person with the power to… well… to manipulate time and space.” He gestures at the ludicrous tangle of overlapping lines he drew.

 

“Erm… what’s that now?”

 

“P1 has the unique ability to alter history by rewinding it at any time of their choosing and also when triggered by specific events by reaching into an intermediary vacuous space and utilizing…” He catches sight of your blank look. “look, i’m doing a fuckin’ bad job of this.” He rubs his face with both hands and looks at you with an apologetic smile. “let me try again from the top…  _ da capo _ if you will.” He grins, taps his stout phalanges together for a moment in thought, and then restarts. 

 

“every so often a human falls down here. you know that already, but while they’re here, they can control the flow of time. if they make a mistake or if something happens that they didn’t like, they can rewind it… like a VHS tape. it’s as natural for them as flexing a muscle; most humans don’t even realize the  _ astronomical _ calculations involved in such an… advanced manipulation of physics until it’s pointed out to them.” He twiddles his forefingers backwards in a winding motion to illustrate his point. “everything that they did, every conversation that happened, every single decision they made, all taken back like they never happened. this is called a Reset. P1 can reset all the way back to the very point they fell down if they want… or just a few minutes if they Saved at an opportune time. you with me?”

 

_ If by ‘with me’ you mean, ‘this sounds ludicrous’ _ . You choose not to share that thought. “I  _ think _ so…” you say instead. “Does it work the other way? Like… fast forwarding?”

 

“not really, no. just backwards," says Sans with a casual side-eye "the side effect though, is that while all denizens of the underground are affected by the time manipulation, they don’t remember it. we’ll call them NP’s.” This, too, is written in the free corner of the board and he draws a box around it symbolizing their separation. “the NP’s will experience the same day over and over and over again, never knowing that they’ve done the same things limitless times.”

 

You rub your temple. “So… let me get this straight… The person who falls down can rewind time, but only up to a point? And then, the sequence of events is the exact same every time?”

 

“close,” he says with an edge of bitterness. “the trouble is that a Reset is a signal that something went wrong. the universe… wants something. it seems to know that something has to change when P1 gets killed or stuck or they won’t progress, so after every Reset, something will change like... a conversation will happen at a different time or a different decision will be made... the same events will occur, but in a different order. subtle things like that.”

 

“Ok, so  _ not _ exactly like a VHS. Do you know why?”

 

Sans shakes his head, returning his gaze to the board. “i have some theories, damn good ones, but there’s just so little data… i think the universe is _ looking _ for something. i think it’s trying out all the combinations to a forgotten password and when it finds it, something is supposed to happen that will make all of this make sense…” His pupils are wide, but dim, staring through the board like a secret message will suddenly appear if he just looks at it the right way. He is silent for a long time.

 

“So,” you say sliding off the wooden stool and stepping up to the chalkboard beside him, “where does that leave you? You’re not a P1… unless you can reset time?” He shakes his head. “And you’re not an NP because… well, you remember everything that happens.”

 

Sans chuckles humorlessly and takes his chalk. In the corner beside NP, he marks a big X. “i guess that’s me,  _ eXceptional _ in every way.” 

 

You throw him a pity groan and zone out while he adds squiggle arrows and differently colored notes to his sprawling timeline. You follow a few lines with your fingers to see where they go, but they’re so overlapped now that you find yourself circling the same loop over and over. Really, the map means very little to you beyond impressing upon you exactly how complicated this whole mess it, but the more you look at it, the further into your thoughts you sink. You think about how familiar everything is here, how you feel so comfortable around the amiable skeleton, and how it feels like you’re still waiting for something to happen… You think about the strong sense of deja vu when you walked through the forest, slung over Papyrus’ shoulder… You think about reaching out to touch Sans’ cheekbone and how, while you are at once sure you’ve never done such a thing, you also know exactly how it would feel… how warm and firm it would be, but still able to mold itself with his expressions… how he would lean towards you and press his thick bony teeth to your lips and...

 

Then… you remember. First, it’s just the little trickle of condensation running down a cool glass, but you remember Sans at the bridge outside Snowdin. He’s standing beside Papyrus, who is declaiming a lovingly prepared explanation of his ultimate most-deadly trap when someone small and familiar comes up behind you. It’s Frisk. Frisk is coming. They’ll actually be here in only a little while because… because you skipped all the puzzles this time. You remember the puzzles in the forest with Papyrus and your hilarious drama break and… WHAM. Like a tidal wave, it all ploughs into you. You stumble backwards, only managing to catch yourself on the stool by pure luck. Sans is at your side in an instant, taking your arm to prevent banging your head on something.

 

“woah, woah… easy now… it’s all coming back?”

 

“I… guess so?” you stammer. Your senses are completely occupied by trying to reconcile two sets of memories. Two walks through Snowdin forest. Two lives before the fall. Two sets of parents, dead. Two families ripped apart by misfortune. Two Floweys, grinning with horrible jagged teeth and insane eyes. You realize slowly that you are shaking and your face is wet with cold tears. 

 

Sans is holding your hand in both of his. “you can do it,” he says encouragingly, “your brain will sort it all out in a minute.”

 

You feel nauseous. Your eyes squeeze shut, but it doesn’t alleviate the throbbing of your head sorting out this waterfall of memories from that raging tornado of images. They’re just pounding against you, interrupting your breaths, halting your heartbeats. You cast out for a single thought, any single thought at all to be your anchor… and you realize that’s ridiculous, because he’s already here, holding your hand. You look into his worried, anxious face and see his smile in a dozen Resets, his laugh making your heart Save when you had no idea that’s what was happening. He stands in the kitchen with Frisk, supervising the slicing of vegetables. He lays on the couch while Papyrus rages about the new Mettaton romcom. He takes your hand to lift you out of the gondola in Waterfall.

 

“I remember you,” you say, surprised by the fervor of your words, and your gladness in realizing them… but then you also realize that you abandoned him. The heat of your skin turns to clamminess in an instant. You take your hand back and stare at the floor, completely unable to look at his face.

 

“what’s wrong?”

 

“I’m sorry…” you say, trying to hold back tears, though they sparkle in your voice. “I’m sorry that I left.”

 

His face falls, too. “just… tell me why.” He looks up from the floor and you see that in his effort to control himself, his eye sockets are empty. You feel flooded with shame.

 

“Sans, I… I’m so sorry. If I knew then what I know now, I would have done everything differently.”

 

“...you thought i would stop you, didn’t you?”

 

“I don’t know…” you look up, hoping for divine inspiration maybe. “I was scared. I thought that you might try to keep me here and then… I’d miss my chance? I don’t know. Look, Sans. I like you. I like you _ a lot, _ but... I would do it again. All I could think about while I was kneeling on that hard, stone floor waiting for Asgore’s trident to  _ stab me through the heart _ … was you and how my death would set you free.”

 

His ribs rise and fall suddenly, a hiss of air escaping his teeth. 

 

“Not only that… think about if our positions were reversed and it were Papyrus. Say the humans needed one more monster soul and it came down to you or Papyrus. Would you really do any differently?”

 

Finally, his eyelights reappear, twinking with relief. “you don’t give up, do you?”

 

“Not when I’ve made up my mind,” you say, reaching out across the infinite inches and retaking his hand. He looks surprised, then lifts it and presses it to his teeth. You’re about to lean in for something else, but your eyes fly open and you jump to your feet.

 

“Oh shit!”

 

“what, what??”

 

“Frisk is here!” Their fall is like an alarm bell in your head, a pulling feeling that tugs at every extremity of your body, taut like a drum. Unthinking, your face is pointed north, towards the old ruins. Guiltily, you turn back. “I’m sorry… it feel like every time it’s time to talk about just us, something else comes up.”

  
Sans shakes his head. “babe, that’s the good part of being in a real relationship… you don’t have to do it alone. we can solve this  _ together _ .”


	22. Reunions (!)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Let's all get on the same page, here.

Sans is perfectly happy to come with you to meet Frisk at the old ruins, but you tell him that now that you’ve remembered the last run, you and Frisk probably have a lot to talk about. He agrees to drop you off and let you walk back home to give you some alone time for conversation. You’re still reeling from your brain’s necessary trauma of merging the memories from the last timeline with the present one, so Sans takes your hands and guides you through the void to the bare patch of snow where he found you. When you open your eyes again, he is gone.

 

“There you are!” you exclaim with delight. The enormous carved stone doors open and out pops Frisk, like the prize from a gumball machine. They see you waving your arms and smile broadly. The next moment, they are swept up in your arms, giggling freely and tugging on your hair to get you to look.

 

**Yay! You figured it out! You remembered!**

 

“Yeah,” you say, loosening the hug and facing them so they can see your lips. “Sans helped me understand what happened. I’m so happy to see you!” You hug them tightly once more, then look intently into their face, searching for scratches and bumps. “How did you get past Toriel? Last time, she really didn’t want me to leave!”

 

Frisk signs happily with flicking fingers, **I snuck through the house! She didn’t even see me until I was halfway down the stairs! This time, I convinced her to let me go because you needed me.** Frisk tilts their head at you, making a hand of brown hair fall into their eyes. **She said you seemed sick when you left.**

 

You guess this is a result of being mentally vacant. You hope that your past self didn’t cause too much trouble. “This time… that’s right, before me it was you who could control the time stream. What did you do?”

 

**A lot!**

 

So you start to walk them through Snowdin Forest and they tell their story. It’s a little difficult to follow sometimes, being told by an enthusiastic kindergartner, but you know Frisk’s communication style pretty well and get the sense of it anyway. It seems that a few days before your eviction, Frisk left the foster family that had been caring for them and come to the mountain and fallen down. Since then, they had died, and Saved, and Reset hundreds of times, each time falling just short of their goal, but determined to try their best anyway. It sounds like Sans and Papyrus were usually helpful, but they suddenly got cagey when you asked about when they _weren’t_ helpful. You decide not to press too hard. The two of you stroll by a snow-dusted guard post, then another.

 

“So you’ve nearly succeeded, then?”

 

**Yes, but… I always felt like something holding me back.**

 

You shrug. “That’s probably pretty common when accomplishing a big task. Change can be scary. Speaking of which, why’d you leave the foster family?”

 

Frisk looks uncomfortable. They kick a snowpoff without much enthusiasm. **Not nice,** they sign with a short, irritable gesture. **Want to be with you.**

 

“Oh, Frisk,” you stop, kneel down, and point them towards you. They stare resolutely at your chin. “You know that I want nothing more than our whole family to be together again… but I can’t. I have nowhere for us to live. I have no food for us to eat. At least with another family, I don’t have to worry about you like that. I’ll find a new job and we’ll buy a little house, maybe something out at the edge of town. Would you like that?”

 

**Yes! Can it have a tire swing?**

 

“Absolutely. It’ll have three bedrooms, one for Rebecca and me, one for the twins, and one for you and Kara, and a big backyard.”

 

**Cool.**

 

“We’ll put everybody back in school and start saving for Rebecca to go to college. You can go to a special school with other Deaf students and teachers. We’ll carry a table out at night to eat by the light of the fireflies and then come inside to our wrap-around couch and watch movies. Every Sunday, we’ll make pancakes and bacon and go to a park where everyone can annoy each other to death. How does that sound?”

 

**I’m hungry.**

 

You roll your eyes. For a moment, there, you forgot that kindergarteners have the attention spans of goldfish. “Ok, why don’t we stop by the store and get something to make the skelebros for tinner? We’ll make something nice, whatever you want.”

 

**OK!**

 

You reach into your pocket and pull out… nothing. Looking at your empty hand, you realize that all the gold you had the last run would have been Reset. Oops.

 

“Sorry, Frisk,” you sign with brows drawn together. “I guess I don’t have any money.”

 

 **That’s ok. I’ve got plenty,** and from their tiny pockets, they pull out handfuls of shining gold.

 

“Oh my God! Where’d you get that?”

 

**Monsters give it to you when you become their friends!**

 

You are about to protest, but you remember how you got that last run gold in the first place, and your brain stalls out. “Huh. That’s weird. Well, ok, I guess it isn’t a problem anymore.”

 

You both walk along, seeing the sights of Snowdin forest. It really is very peaceful; it makes sense that so many monsters would want to settle here. You think about the skeletons waiting for you back at the house and feel… something. It’s not _happy_ , or _nervous_ … it’s not energizing like excitement or burning like anger. It’s a strange floating feeling in your fingers and toes that makes your heart squeeze weirdly. It’s been a long time since you felt like this.

 

“Hey, Frisk…”

 

**Yeah?**

 

“Have you ever tried… you know… rewinding back? Like, all the way back? Before… dad died?”

 

Frisk looks up at you with the wide, innocent face of a child who not only recognizes another’s pain but wishes they had the power to remove it with their tiny hands _._ **Can’t rewind past the fall. Nothing outside the Underground.**

 

You kneel and take them in your arms. Two broken kids, looking for home.

 

Frisk presses their hand to your shoulder blade and starts drawing letters. **C-A-N-T R-E-M-E-M-B-E-R D-A-D-S F-A-C-E.**

 

You lean back suddenly. “Wait, what?”

 

They sign quickly, it’s difficult to follow. **I can’t remember what Dad’s face looks like. I know you had pictures at the house and you tell me stories about him, but I don’t remember what he looked like for real. When I think about it, all I see is you.**

 

Your heart staggers. Not for the first time, you realize how unfair it is that Frisk only got a little time to spend with one of their parents while you got both for so long. “We’ll get back to the surface and we’ll be a family again, ok? We just have to figure out… how to break an ancient magical spell and free all the monsters of the underground.”

 

 **That’s only two things!** they sign with a loud, barking laugh.

 

“Yeah, stink butt. Only two things. Let’s go.”

 

xXx

 

“HUMAN! YOU’RE OUT OF JAIL!”

 

You continue swinging Frisk on your arm. If they stretch out their entire body, their toes can skim the ground. It won’t be much longer until they’re taller than you. They have the grocery bag of food looped around their neck frontways, like a lanyard. “I came back. You didn’t tell me I was supposed to _stay_ in jail.”

 

Papyrus looks taken aback. “TRUE…”

 

“This is Frisk,” you continue before he has a chance to ask. “They’re my family and they’re going to be staying in my cell with me. Actually,” you say firmly before Papyrus can build up a head of ecstatic steam, “I wanted to talk to you about finding some better furniture.” After thinking through all of your memories with him, you realized that you need to be proactive with your Papyrus conversations or else you get sidetracked something fierce.

 

“THE DUMP!”

 

You perform an actual double-take. “Excuse me?”

 

“THE DUMP!” he screeches excitedly again. “THE BEST HUMAN STUFF IS ALWAYS FALLING DOWN THERE! IT’S WHERE WE GOT ALL OF OUR FINE HOME FURNISHINGS, SO IT’S PAPYRUS-APPROVED!”

 

From the second story, a window opens and Sans sticks his head out. “hey, paps. what kind of show does a chair put on?”

 

“SANS, NO!”

 

“I don’t know,” you yell up to him. “What kind of show does a chair put on?”

 

“a _sit_ -com!”

 

“NOOOOOO!”

 

“oh man,” says Sans without a hint of remorse, “i guess i really put my _futon_ it, huh?”

 

“In the fu- _chair_ , you should give up on the puns.”

 

“maybe you’re not _sofa-_ r off.”

 

“Anyone can _seat_ bothers Papyrus.”

 

“WELL THANK YOU I… WAIT A MINUTE!!!”

 

He grins and locks eyes with you. “are you going to give me a… _dresser-_ ing down?”

 

You smile and say, “Only if you come down here to get it,” hoping he catches your meaning through Papyrus screeches and Frisk laughter.

 

The brief blue twinkle in his eye means he most assuredly did. The window bangs shut the same moment he appears in the yard beside you, arm looped in yours. He’s grinning fit enough to split his skull. “hi.”

 

“Hi,” you say back, suddenly a little shyer.

 

“hi,” he says again, a little blue dust appearing on his cheeks.

 

“Hi.”

 

“AHEM!?” Papyrus ‘coughs’ loudly to bring your attention back where it belongs. “IT'S A GOOD THING I SPOTTED YOU IN THE FOREST FIRST! MY BROTHER MAKES WEIRD FIRST IMPRESSIONS!”

 

Frisk uses an unfamiliar sign that makes Sans laugh. They use it again in conjunction with your name sign and continue, **SITTING IN A TREE! K-I-S-S-I-N-G!**

 

“You’re such a brat, stink bottom,” you say, pretending to be mad and stomping your foot.

 

They laugh delightedly and grab Papyrus’ hand to drag them inside. “WHAT? WHERE ARE WE GOING? WOW! BEING A GOOD HOST IS A REAL WORKOUT!"

 

The door closes behind them. The house is actually really soundproof, now that you are on the outside and Papyrus’ hooting is on the inside.

 

“have a good walk?” he asked, seeming to hold himself still and thus, not jostle their arms and remind you that you are still touching.

 

“Yeah. I think both Frisk and I needed that.”

 

“so… how do you feel about, well, everything i told you?”

 

“It’s… a lot,” you say quite honestly. “It’s a lot to take in, not just about me but also the idea that Frisk and I are… stuck in this loop, no matter what we do. There’s so much I have to figure out; Saving and Resetting… befriending monsters and working magic on the barrier without having to give up one of our souls…”

 

He looks up, hopeful. “you’re still planning on helping us?”

 

“Of course!” you say, taking your arm from his so you can face him and show him the earnestness in your face. “I meant what I said before, about humans needing to right their wrongs towards you and your people.”

 

“yeah?”

 

“I also meant everything I said about the surface and my family. If I accomplish one goal, it solves them both.”

 

“uh-huh. that’s what it is, huh?”

 

You look at him sideways. “What are you getting at?”

 

He hesitates, but the way he keeps looking to you and away from you is enough to give you a clue-by-four.

 

“Sans… that’s not fair. I’ve only remembered everything that happened barely two hours ago. I’m still working out how I know that two completely different things happened at exactly the same time, much less… us. Last time, we went from friends to fucking nearly in one day. It was really fast and we didn’t really take any time to figure out what we were.”

 

“...i know.”

 

“Look, once I sort out the… time looping situations and figure out the… Frisk situation, then I’ll be ready to sort out the _us_ situation. I just need a little time, ok?”

 

He almost sulks, letting his shoulders droop and looking sternly at the ground, but suddenly a change comes over him. He leans back and meets your eyes with a smile that softens his brows. Sans shrugs in that lazy way specifically intended to hide some kind of smugness. You look suspiciously at his casual grin.

 

“Okaaaaaaaay?” you say, hoping to provoke more than an inappropriate sweep of his eyes over your decolletage.

 

“ok,” he agrees. “just know that my bedroom door is always open when you’re ready… to go to the _bone zone_.”

 

You laugh at the ridiculousness of him, even as your heart begins to thud faster and your thighs begin to tingle and you swear that just for a second that you taste peppermint. He leans toward you and without thought, you respond by almost throwing yourself against him. At the last second, you swerve and kiss his cheek. You feel a thrum of magic against your lips and feel certain that his tongue manifested inside his smooth teeth.

 

“Oh Sans,” you whisper, pressing your flushed cheek against his hard mandible. “If I kiss you right now… _I won’t be able to stop myself_ …”

 

The little purr in your voice makes him stiffen. He is holding his breath and when you pull away to look, his eyes are locked onto yours, a faint ring of blue around his left. You prevent yourself from leaning towards him and pressing your entire body against his so he can feel how you are vibrating like a taut string. Instead, you step back and smile pleasantly, though the effect is somewhat ruined by you biting your own lip to control yourself.

 

The smug-look-barely-masked-by-apathy makes a return and he shrugs again, sloughing off in the direction of the house. “after you, then.”

 

xXx

 

It’s one of those evenings where Sans is certain that Papyrus remembers impressions and feelings through the Resets. So many things line up vertically in his mind, little tics and habits common to every alternate version of themselves that there’s often no doubt in his mind that the universe has a plan and everything is tied together. Papyrus doesn’t even question the two humans he ‘captured’ joining them in the kitchen to cook and around the table to eat.

 

Sans teases her mercilessly all through dinner. Frisk and Papyrus have made baked chicken and a noodle dish that is related to spaghetti, but with flatter, curly noodles, and Sans has to admit that it’s downright edible. He makes sure that his tongue is visible right as she turns to speak to others at the table and enjoys the little stutter of her eyes across his teeth, alternating between their usual smoothness and the blunt points that drove her crazy.

 

All of this to tease her and encourage her to think about them sooner rather than later.

 

But it was nothing like what he was doing to himself.

 

He was keenly aware of every twitch of her hair and how she switched her fork from one hand to the other depending on who she was talking to. He watched her soul glow when she signed one-handed and listened to the flow of her voice, remembering some of his favorite conversations with her. Visions of her sitting at the table exactly as she was but entirely undressed distracted him from the meal so much that he didn’t notice it was over until everyone stood.

 

“goodnight,” he said to you, watching you take Frisk’s hand. Your eyes lock onto his and you blush, your cheeks flushing like his do, but with heat that sings through your very blood. You said goodnight and scooted out the door double-quick time.

 

He pats the bed beside him, smoothing the sheets where he remembers you lay and tries to forget how you felt in his arms earlier today. His magic is insistent, though, burning with need more strongly than he can remember. He wishes that you hadn’t called it a night so soon. Maybe tomorrow he could convince you to sit with him on the couch while they all watch a movie. Then maybe you’d lay on him and let him burn for you and take it slow. The urge for a quick fumble on the couch is enough to get the attention of his cock and inexorably draw his hand towards himself to stroke, but he doesn’t feel like his usual quick tug.

 

“not when i want you like _this_ …” he whispers, stroking himself slowly and imagining holding your hips over his. Your beautiful, round thighs would be resting on either side of his spine, surrounding him with your hot, slick skin. Sinking his magic into you inch by tight inch, maybe you would tremble in his hands or lose your strength and lay forward on his ribcage. Which is better, watching your bare breasts prickle with gooseflesh and hard nipples or feeling you press those sensitive breasts against his very bones? Both images make his pelvis arch against his fist.

 

He wants to hear you moan. He wants to watch your eyes roll back and your mouth open wide in a pleasurable, elastic moan, stretching with every thrust. He wants to hear you whisper it against his jaw, or shout it loud enough to wake all of Snowdin, or slur it out between burning sobs from slaps that leave your ass raw and pink… doesn’t matter. He hears it ringing in his skull and rakes one hand of sharp bones across his sternum, making himself shiver like you.

 

He could roll you over and press you deeply into the pillows, at his mercy. He rolls himself over to match his thought and thrusts down into his clenched hand as though you were pinned underneath him. You would try to hook your feet around his pelvis, but by now, he’s moving too fast for you to do anything except cling to him. The bed is creaking under him and he closes his eyes, willing himself to finish with imaginary you before he gives in.

 

He’s going to lean back and throw your legs over his shoulders. He’ll take himself out to do it, which leaves you open for his fingers to slip inside, teasing your sore petals. Will you sigh with relief or whine that your body is empty, stretched, and exposed. Oh gods, it would sound so pretty to hear you beg for his magic to fill you again. You would stutter and gasp, turning flushed and shining with sweat, when he draws circles around your clit with his thumb at the same time he traces your entrance with a forefinger. _Make you gasp… make you beg… maybe even just make you say ‘please’_... He’ll tease you until you do with wide, vulnerable eyes and nearly afraid of what you’re asked for… and then? Then you belong to him.

 

Driving, relentless thrusts with his magic as hard and electric as he can stand. He’ll rattle his bones between your wide open legs. His hand is your body that he fucks, leaning down and pressing his forehead to yours, the better to feel your pounding blood and breathe your earthy, aroused scent. It will mix with his own salty scent and the crackle of magic filling the room, filling your mouths and lungs until you are only breathing each other. All at once, his shoulders shake to hold him up, his knees slip and his pelvis, nearly of its own accord, slams up hard against the bed, making it slam against the wall and crack. His magic releases in throbbing waves, covering the crumpled sheet that was just your stomach and breasts, shaking with him as he fills you with his crackling blue magic. Sans breathes hard and slumps forward, asleep as soon as his eyes close. His last thought is a fervent hope that he can keep himself together until you’re ready.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So in the making of the second act, I’ve needed to refer to old chapters quite a lot. Finally, there were so many details I needed and didn’t know where in the plot I’d put them, that I gave up and read the entire first act front to back and BOY WAS THAT UNCOMFORTABLE. It doesn’t feel like I’ve been writing this story for very long, but those first few chapters were actually a few days shy of 2 years ago. The amount of growth my writing (and ability to analyze writing) has undergone in these two years is PAINFULLY obvious, but I try to think about it like leveling up in a game. If I go back to the first few areas and murderate everything, then clearly, I’ve grown in skill. (It’s not a perfect metaphor, I admit)
> 
> More importantly, I want to give a special shout-out to the readers who have stuck around this long, still willing to come along and see where this goes. I could not be more grateful or inspired by your kudos and comments. Thank you.


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick note going forward, starting with this chapter, this story is going to take a darker, hopefully more disturbing turn. I know there are warnings at the beginning of the entire story, but I'm going to open the closet door more fully and this Cerberus syndrome has been planned since the very beginning. If there is any confusion about content, please don't hesitate to contact me.

It’s late. Shops are closed, monsters are sleeping and the quiet cavern crystals are at their dimmest, but you’re awake. You look out the open window of your ‘jail’ into the trees behind the skeleton brother’s house and try to place your feelings. A hot, gusty wind is blowing through you across the valleys and dunes of your skin; restless. You try to close your eyes, first beside Frisk on the bundle of softish blankets and then again in the chair with your head on the wobbly card table but each time, your eyes prickle back open so you can brush the hair from your face or arrange your legs  _ just so. _ A line from a book came to your mind, “Lucy knew that one of the best ways of getting to sleep is to stop trying, so she opened her eyes.” Eventually, you follow Lewis’ advice and get up, pretending like sleep is the furthest thing from your mind.

 

It didn’t work very well.

 

So you pulled up one leaning chair to the window and sat, gazing out at the beautiful crystals, softly glowing only a few hundred feet straight up. You pretend to see familiar constellations in their chaotic patterns until you can't remember anymore and just let the angles amuse your eyes. Many times in recent months you have done exactly this to distract your mind from the empty apartment. You’d wheel the threadbare office chair to the minuscule porch and look out upon the dark city until you could forget your troubles. When one's life was customarily full to bursting with the noise of 5 other children, the silence of their absence was physically painful. Worst of all, you lost them all at once. CPS came to your door with a black, tinted-window minivan and picked up all of your living family, leaving you completely alone. It makes your heart squeeze to think about and you regret this train of thought, recounting how many nights you’d escape there to cry when they were still living with you, but without them, you just sat and stared, too numb to even try.

 

Maybe if you stare at the unchanging scenery long enough, your brain will get bored and let you sleep instead of putting you through this torture.

 

_ rustlerustle _

 

Shit.

 

_ Rustlerustlerustle! _ A little green vine wraps over the windowsill and hauls up its owner. His clay pot thumps onto the wood.

 

"It’s you.”

 

“Howdy!”

 

You deign to look down on the little yellow flower, wriggling his petals exuberantly. You see his sweet, innocent smile and remember it superimposed on the body of a horrible, homicidal plant-devil. It makes your spine shiver, but you feel determined not to give your murderer an inch. Plastering the best aloof expression on your eyebrows, you pointedly look away from him before speaking.  “Why are  _ you _ here?”

 

He pouts. “Aren’t I allowed to come say ‘hi’ to a friend?”

 

You somehow prevent yourself from recoiling in disgust. “We’re not friends.”

 

“Oh, Aubrey… Of  _ course _ we’re friends.”

 

“I want nothing to do with… what did you say?” You finally turn to look at Flowey, who smiles his smug little smile. That name sounds almost correct… somehow...

 

“Aubrey,” he says again, his grin broadening. “That’s your name, dummy!”

 

“No, it’s not... My name is Audrey,” you say slowly, tasting it on your tongue. Strangely, it doesn’t seem to fit. You keep thinking about it, wondering why it rings false when you feel a trickle on your upper lip. Touching it, your fingertips come away red. You feel lightheaded, but your thoughts are whirring faster than ever.

 

Flowey just stares at you expectantly. His eyes are locked onto the blood on your fingers. You swear that if he had a tongue, he'd be licking his lips right now.

 

“I understand,” you say, gazing at your blood in wonder. “I’m both. There  _ is _ no separation.” And it was true. Up until now, you had been thinking of yourself, the one sitting in a broken chair in the skeleton brother’s garage, and your other self, the one who died in the Hall of Judgement with Sans, as similar, but individual people. Like the events of the past timeline were real, but happened to someone who was functionally your twin; the same in makeup, but dissimilar in regards to experience. The reality is that there is no difference outside the superficial. What you wear… what you ate this morning… what your favorite color is... even your name doesn’t really matter because it’s just a sound to indicate yourself. Your  _ soul _ is what determines who you are. It thuds in your chest as though confirming this. 

 

“Jeez, it took you long enough!” Flowey looks impatient with your revelation. “I waited until now because you finally got out of your weird trance and started asking the smiley trashbag the  _ real  _ questions.” He crosses his leaves and turns from you like a teenager in a huff. “You were  _ no fun _ in the ruins!”

 

Deciding that this is not the correct time to be indulging in thought-experiments involving the nature of the human soul and transformation, you wipe your face as much as possible and rinse your fingers in a cup of water pulled from a plastic gallon jug. Papyrus brought it to you before bed. When it's pink from your blood, you throw that dirty water out the window, aiming close enough to Flowey that some droplets splash on him, then pull another cup for you to drink. It tastes very chlorinated and bitter, but it wets your dry tongue. 

 

“No fun, you say? More like 'no concern of yours'.” You pull out your phone and see only one phone number: Toriel. It’s strange. You remember her perfectly from before… her gentle manner and her fierce protectiveness of you, but not from this timeline. The first thing you can remember from this timeline is waking up outside the doors and Sans’ soothing voice trying to help you.

 

You wonder why everything up until then is blank.

 

“Well… good,” you say firmly. “I wasn’t myself, obviously. I’m glad Sans was there.”

 

He glares daggers over his ‘shoulder’ at you. “Since ‘yourself’ is the one who let all of your friends die for you, maybe that’s an improvement!” he spits harshly.

 

Instantly, your blood boils. “Why you little---  _ ouch! _ ” Holding one stung hand, you look back to be sure that you haven’t woken Frisk, then feel dumb because  _ of course _ you haven’t. They can’t hear you unless you drop something on the floor. You feel a little relief for this, though. Since Frisk is soundly asleep, they can’t hear Flowey get to you or see that in your anger, you had reached out to swat the plant and got a palmful of thorns for your trouble.

 

“Ah, ah, ah!” Flowey chirrups like a school-teacher, “We mustn’t touch without permission!”

 

“You know what? Whatever it is,” you snarl just under your breath, “you can go to hell! I don’t care  _ what _ you’re here for, even if it’s the power to break the barrier, forget it! Lord knows what you would do if you were freed.”

 

“Oh no, I don’t want that anymore.” 

 

Your hand still smarts and you glare only more fiercely at Flowey. This conversation needs to end before he goads you to do something stupid. “...You’re a liar.”

 

“Maybe a little,” he says, tilting his head to one side and softly shaking his petals. “But not right now.” He smiles and doesn’t offer any further explanation. 

 

“I suppose you want me to ask you what you want now,” you say, rolling your eyes.

 

His petals rise and fall like a shrug, or maybe an eyebrow lift. “Only if you want to.” It's said it casually enough, but there's an underlying dare offered. He really, really wants you to ask.

 

But you? You don’t. You really, really don’t. In fact, you’d be the happiest human on the entire surface if it remained a secret until the end of time and you never had to hear his thin, unctuous voice ever again. It’s absolutely true except… You’re also planning on directly challenging him to determine the fate of all monsterkind. Obtaining solid intelligence is  _ paramount _ to creating an actionable plan to take him down. It is imperative that you learn everything about his habits, desires, and motivations as quickly as possible. So, even though it makes your heart flutter to do it, you take your feet down from the windowsill, sit forward, lift your head, and swallow your fear of his raking vines plunging through your flesh to ask,

 

“What do you want?”

 

Christmas has come early. Flowey’s piercing eyes lock onto yours and the lights of them become laser focused. He leans forward unblinkingly on a stalk much longer than it has any right to be until he is only inches from your pale face and says in a voice that could cut silk, “I want  _ you. _ ”

 

You don’t know what your face looks like, but he’s smiling as though he’s just told a  _ fantastic _ joke, eyes still boring into yours. You are flooded with dread. It causes your lips to tremble and your breath to hitch. “Um,” you say, shaking your head a little to feign ignorance, “I’m sorry. I don’t understand.” 

 

His bright petals flutter around a truly mad smile, almost brushing your cheek. “I want to have you, human.”

 

Your heart is racing in your throat. It will leap out onto your parchment-dry tongue any second. “I still don’t get it… you want to, I don’t know,  _ be _ with me? Like, in a relationship? Because I'm going to need time to...”

 

“Yes, yes, I heard your little speech to that sorry sack of bones,” Flowey rolls his sharp eyes and sticks out his tongue through his wicked little fangs to punctuate his point. “You just need some  _ time… _ ” he says in a high, mocking voice, then switches back to his usual snark, “When you’ve decided that poor bastard has waited long enough, you’ll go  _ leaping _ back into his bed and ride that blue di--”

 

“That’s enough!” you snarl, hearing the hiss of your words reverberate through the trees of Snowdin. “What do you know about it? You’ve probably never been  _ loved _ by anything in your life, you vile, creeping  _ weed _ .”

 

That was clearly the incorrect thing to say and as the words leave your mouth, you see revealed the ugly, nakedly hateful face that Flowey hides. You feel a fear more real and vulnerable than a lone person who is left standing in the dark against a howling wind that cuts through to the bone. You stand up suddenly, feeling for the table behind you to steady yourself. You can’t tear your eyes away.

 

“ _ NO. _ I want to _own_ you, mind, body and  _ soul _ ,” he says viciously. His body is elongating and brandishing violet spikes. “I want you to _belong_ to me in a way that incapable _fuck_ could never imagine. I want you to do anything and everything that I ask for; to scramble on your hands and knees to fulfill my every command; to live and die on my whim; to Reset over your own death time and time again. And you know what else? I want you to do all this...  _ hating _ me all the while. I want to see the humiliation in your eyes while you call me 'master' and kneel to serve me. I want to see your face torn up with rage even while your mouth  _ begs _ me to fuck you, and then I want you to scream for death when you get exactly what your whore mouth asked for.  And by the end? I can guarantee it will be  _ you _ _who loves me!_ ”

 

“GO AWAY!” You clamp your hands over your ears and shut your eyes to pinch back the tears. “LEAVE ME ALONE!” His stinging words ring in your ears, turning your blood to ice and dropping you to your knees. You crash into the table with a BANG. It doesn’t matter who hears you now, as long as it  _ stops. _ _Make it stop!_ Your cheeks are wet with cold tears and sweat and the concrete floor is hard on your knees, but you can’t bring yourself to get up and face Flowey again. You just can't.

 

“HUMAN?”

 

You startle out of your little ball of complete terror.

 

It’s Papyrus. He stands before you in a huge, flannel onesie sporting a pattern of red and yellow racecars. You look at him from the bunny-eared hood stretched over his skull all the way down to the fluffy little footies, unable to feel even a little embarrassed by your compromising position and clear I-was-just-sobbing face due to outright shock. Your jaw, she is on the floor.

 

In the corner, Frisk rolls over and sits up, rubbing their eyes and looking from one to the other.  **What’s going on? Is it morning?**

 

You look behind you at the windowsill but see nothing. Flowey is gone. You stand and look over the sill. Nothing on the ground. Nothing in the air. Nothing moving at all along the edge of the forest. You remember to breathe.

 

“Ah… I’m sorry,” you say, hastily scrubbing your face with the back of one hand and looking back at Papyrus and Frisk. “I must have had a nightmare.”

 

“I HEARD YELLING AND I THOUGHT…” despite his towering height, Papyrus looks lost and small. You feel embarrassed that he felt the need to come check on you.

 

“It’s nothing, I promise.” You give him a cheeky grin, “They probably heard you coming and ran away with fright.” Papyrus’ shoulders slump, which surprises you. You were expecting him to return to his usual exuberant self, full of confidence and enthusiasm, not become more unhappy and resigned. You step forward and gently touch the soft flannel at his elbow. “Hey, I’m sorry… I didn’t mean to scare you.”

 

Papyrus smiles and says, “IT’S NOT THAT.” He hesitates before saying anything else, looking very self-conscious, so you start trying to tease the answer out of him. Gently, like you would for your family.

 

“Is it us? Having humans at your house?”

 

“NO, I LIKE HAVING MORE FRIENDS AROUND!”

 

“Is it… Captain Undyne? Does she want to come get us sooner rather than later?”

 

“NO, COLDER.”

 

“Okay, so it’s something to do with us?”

 

“WARMER.”

 

“...something to do with Frisk?”

 

“NO.”

 

“Something to do with just me, then.”

 

“YES.”

 

You smile and rub his arm. “This is fun. It’s like a puzzle made of questions.”

 

He brightens right up, the darkness in his eyesockets taking on a warmer tone. “YEAH! IT IS!”

 

“Ok. Did my yelling wake you?”

 

“NO.”

 

“Did my yelling scare you?”

 

His eyes flick away for a second. “...NO. WARMER.”

 

_ I’ll take that as ‘a little’. _ “Were you afraid something was happening to me?”

 

“SOMETHING ELSE.”

 

You rub your chin until you feel a tug on your pants leg. You look down and see Frisk, bleary-eyed but awake and reaching up for you. Unthinking, you pick them up and they snuggle their face into your shoulder and sign one-handed,  **Were you afraid it was a big scary creature?** They pull a frightening face and use their bent finger to make it look like they have fangs. Immediately, you worry that he saw Flowey threatening you.

 

“SOMETHING ELSE.”

 

You’re grasping at straws now. What else could be bothering him? “Were you afraid I was mad at you?”

 

With a wail of anguish, Papyrus sits right down on the floor, looking completely miserable again. “YES! I THOUGHT YOU WERE MAD ABOUT HAVING TO STAY IN THE GARAGE AND YOU WANTED TO LEAVE BEFORE WE COULD GET YOU NEW FURNITURE!!!” And then, to your alarm, he plants his face right down in his hands and sobs at the top of his lungs.

 

“Oh, honey,” you let Frisk slide to the floor and together, you put your arms around the big, loud monster. When he sits on the ground, you are both about the same height, so you can easily hug him right around the shoulders. “I’m not mad at you at all. I got scared by a nightmare and I couldn’t tell if it was real or not. I forgot to keep my voice down because Frisk isn’t bothered when I’m loud late at night, and I really didn’t mean to worry you. I’m so sorry, Papyrus.”

 

He peeks at you through his fingers. “YOU PROMISE?”

 

You give him your most sincere smile. “I promise. I’m really looking forward to going to the dump with you tomorrow. Making this garage more comfortable will make us feel like we belong, won’t it Frisk?”

 

They nod sleepily and rest their head against Papyrus’ back. In another moment, they are sound asleep again. You are about to pick them up and put them back to bed when Papyrus, silent at the night, cradles them in one enormous hand and lifts them effortlessly. He carries the little child to the bundle of blankets and takes care to settle them in the softest part before pulling the blanket up to their chin. You stare in wonder. Papyrus is so often loud and boisterous, oblivious to his surroundings, that you completely forgot what tenderness he was capable of. 

 

He returns sheepishly to you. “I GUESS THE GREAT PAPYRUS GOT GREATLY CARRIED AWAY.”

 

“Maybe a little, but I understand.” You sound just like you’re talking to the twins after they had their world rocked by loss. Having to explain to your siblings what happened to your father was the absolute worst day of your life.  _ This isn’t the same as that, _ you think to yourself, pretending like the memory doesn’t ache in your very bones.

 

“YOU DO?”

 

“Yeah, I do. I worry sometimes that people don’t want me around because I’m broken or lazy. It makes me work extra hard to be friendly and smart so that everyone will stay.”

 

“THAT’S RIDICULOUS!” he screeches. “YOU’RE THE SECOND NICEST HUMAN EVER!”

 

“Ha ha! I hope Frisk is the first!” you laugh, mock-punching his arm.

 

“OBVIOUSLY!” He mock-punches you back, but it feels like a real swing. Your smile stays frozen to keep him from knowing about the bruise already blossoming under the navy blue blouse.  _ Just how strong _ is _ this monster? _

 

“Ok, Paps,” you say, diverting his attention somewhere else. “It’s late. How does Sans help you get back to sleep?”

 

“HE MAKES TEA! WOULD YOU LIKE SOME?”

 

“Absolutely, Paps. I would love some.”

 

So you go together to the kitchen to make some nice, warm tea. It’s calming to sit and chat with Papyrus as though nothing at all is wrong. You ask him questions about what he would like to pick up tomorrow, and he proceeds to tell you about every piece of furniture in the house and where they got it. You listen attentively at first but eventually, your mind wanders out of its skull and directs itself upstairs. Just a few feet above you lies Sans, probably deeply asleep on his bed. Is it true what Flowey said? Are you just stringing Sans along to make sure that he’s devoted to you, like some kind of test? Is it just a stalling technique to make yourself feel better for jumping his bones so quickly last time? You don’t think so but at the same time…

 

When your teacups are empty, you creep upstairs and tuck Papyrus into his racecar bed and thank him for coming to check on you. “You’re a good friend, Paps.”

 

“YOU TOO, BIG HUMAN.”

 

You laugh. Your 5'3" ass never been accused of  _ that _ before. “Goodnight.”

 

“GOODNIGHT...” His eyes are already closed and it seems that sleep is only a wink away. 

 

Quietly, you turn off the light and close the door behind you. The house is so still now. You glance down the dark hallway for a moment, still hoping Flowey’s accusation is only that, but finally turn away towards the front door. Your focus needs to be on keeping everyone safe and bringing down the barrier.

  
Or else it might be  _ you _ who is trapped here forever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, readers! There was some confusion last chapter about the difference between ‘her’ and ‘you’, so I’d like to reveal my thoughts on making that choice. Typically, my chapter structure is the same: I do some setup, plot happens in one scene, transition, and then there’s a second scene where a character or two react to the plot (y’all’ve been with me for 2 years, so you know this by now). I like best to set this up by phrasing the setup in the past tense, mostly just with verbs, so that when you get to the present tense material, it gives off the feeling that you’re all caught up and now we’re proceeding through the story together in real time.
> 
>  
> 
> This time, I went a step further by not only putting dinner from Sans’s point of view in the past tense, but also referring to the Reader as ‘her’ and ‘she’ instead of the customary ‘you’, distancing her grammatically as well as physically. I wanted to suggest the audience that Sans is considering two distinct women, the ‘her’ that is physically present beside him, interacting and joking with the family, but that he does not have permission to touch and the ‘you’ to whom he can do as he pleases, but doesn’t exist in the tangible world. The purpose of this stems from two sources; one from my own husband, who considers my many moods to be different versions of the same person, and the other to Catcher in the Rye whose author used a similar distancing grammar anytime Holden Caulfield is feeling guilt or shame about an action in his past. Let me know how I did in comments or just tell me any other little thing that might cross your mind. Thank you!


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